I woke up on the couch. It was cold in the living room because the ceiling fan was on. My one-eyed Shih Tzu, Jack, lay sprawled across my feet. The morning sun screamed though the window. I smashed a pillow over my face.
“Why did you wake up on the sofa?” you ask. Well, folks, I did it by choice. You see, as feminine as I may appear, I sometimes snore like a truck driver. The good news is, it only happens when I sleep.
“Roll over, Michelle,” my husband, Mark, tells me. “Prop up your head. And please close your mouth.”
I obey in a fog and we both close our eyes. Ten minutes later, a jackhammer goes off in our bedroom. Wait a minute. That’s me.
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“You’re doing it again,” Mark says and groans.
It’s hard to sleep with all the complaining. So I grab my pillow and head for the sofa.
Fortunately for my marriage, I only “jackhammer snore” a couple times a month. But there was a time when it didn’t happen at all. I was young. I was snoreless. The world was my oyster and I was its pearl.
A word to the wise: Do not fall in love with someone because you think they’ll always be lovely. They won’t. Unless they die really young.
Skinny people grow fat. Smooth-skinned people grow wrinkled. Men lose their hair and women lose their tempers. Remember when your mother used to tell you, “Beauty is only skin deep?” Well, snoring goes right to the bone.
Let’s face it, long-term relationships are nothing like courtships. Maybe that’s why half of all marriages end in divorce and the other half find their way to the couch.
“Couches are an integral part of marriage,” a friend confided, when I told her I was writing this column. “Not just for when you’re snoring or arguing but for when you need time alone to sip your coffee.”
My friend — who asked to remain nameless for the purpose of this column — says her husband drinks his coffee at the kitchen table, while she drinks hers on the living room loveseat.
“I like my alone time in the morning,” she said. “It’s how I unwind after a long night’s sleep.”
Speaking of sleeping, I am thinking of getting one of those tape things you put on your nose to stop you from snoring. And maybe one of those funky mouth guards you wear to stop grinding your teeth.
“Will you still love me if go to bed looking like Darth Vader?” I asked my husband.
“I would love you more than ever,” he said. “Besides, I won’t have to look at you with the light out.”
Lucky for him, we have a comfortable couch.