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9:18 a.m. - 2009-12-16
Do You Hear What I Hear?

I've gotta wonder where my psyche roams while I sleep. I wake up with the damnedest earworms. This morning it's 'Go Away, Little Girl' by The Osmonds. Waking up to a pubescent Donny Osmond warbling in your brain…ayuh, that's the way to start a day.

I do know where my bod was while I slept, it was on the couch. No trouble in paradise, just a snoring problem. I can sleep through Mick's snoring, but I can't GO to sleep if he's in full buzz saw mode. Usually we conk out around the same time, or me first. On the rare nights he drops off early if his snoring is bad I can jab him a few times until he rolls into a position that's fairly quiet. Last night, however, he was nursing a pinchy nerve in his back. A snow shoveling injury. Anyhow, making him flop around like a trout was out of the question, poor guy. I gave sleeping in the bed the old college try, but the noise was impossible. I was in a wee bit of a snit when I flounced off downstairs, unreasonably torqued over Mick's nose noise. Goes back to the days with the ex. HIS snoring is so loud that during our rare holidays there were complaints from neighboring motel rooms. I kid you not. Mike's snoring had a vindictive quality to it too, the man even slept with an attitude. If poked and begged to roll over he'd glare like a badger and refuse. And then somehow manage to snore even louder.

The snore wars went on for many years until our move to the big white house, whereupon I claimed a room of my own and set Mike up in another room down and across the hall. He, of course, insisted that I was a terrible wife for this and I always shot back that sleep deprivation was against the Geneva Convention and after twelve years of it I was entitled to both amnesty and a decent night's rest. If he refused to even fricken roll over then I was well within my rights to a bed and room of my own. So poor Mick on the rare nights when his snoring is bad he gets a little glaring and 'tude from me before I make my grand martyrish exit from the room, nose in the air and pillow in hand.

Got caught out by this weekend's storm, but steps have been taken. Namely in the form of a driveway plowing service and the purchase of 160lbs of Winter Wizard ice melt. For years now I've told Mick it was plain nuts for him to be out there shoveling, not when a nice man in a truck can come by and do the job in mere minutes for a minimal amount of money. What else is money for if not to buy freedom from drudgery and potential injury? There'll still be plenty enough manly man work for him to do with cleaning off the cars and salting the steps and walkways. Nobody will think him a slacker and a weakling if the plow guy does the driveway. Nor will it mean we've become yuppie scum, spoiled brats who can't do for ourselves. For Pete's sake he takes the cars to Jiffy Lube for oil changes, yet his macho is on the line over driveway shoveling? For a wonder, he's finally seen the sense of what I've been yammering about. That, and the horrific pain in his back finally convinced him that hiring the plow guy is a good idea.

…"I can't go on like this. You're just toooo hard to resist. So, go away, little girl…"

Dammit, Donny, you go away. And take your creepy crooning toothy brothers with you.

On today's agenda, putting Christmas lights around the porch windows and doing a little baking. A very little baking. At least it seems so compared to years past when Door Mat Wife used to bake upwards of 60 dozen cookies to be distributed to the ex's favorite clients, contractors, and suppliers. I mean sure, it was always nice to go into the Plumb King and be hailed as the Cookie Goddess, but really that cookie factory I ran during December was nuts. There's just so much butter and sugar you can cream before the idea of applying the hand mixer to your husband's twig and giggle berries sounds like the perfect Christmas gift. Even better than a leopard-print Snuggie, and lord knows there aren't many presents more wonderful than that.

Nice chatting with you. Time for me (and Donny plus Alan, Wayne, Merrill, and Jay) to be about our biz.


Involuntarily humming a happy tune, ~LA

3 Wanna talk about it!

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