I love Dan, I really do.
He is the sweetest man I have ever known. Funny and smart. Always makes me feel good about myself. Puts up with my endless crap day after day.
However, when bedtime rolls around he becomes the enemy. He transforms into the killer of dreams, the destroyer of dozing, the slayer of slumber.
He becomes…the Snorer.
When we first started seeing each other and the inevitable sleep over happened, he snoozed silently. We could cuddle and the most disturbing thing that would happen is that he would jump slightly when he started drifting off.
Then one night the rumbling began. But it was soft and light for the most part and I figured, heck, I can live with this. And so I did. Dan and I moved in together after about three months of dating.
About a month later, the squeaker showed up. The squeaker is the snore that starts normally enough with heavy open mouth breathing. Maybe a little rattle in the back of the throat. And then suddenly there it is. The high-pitched call of a dying platypus. “Heeeee-uh, Heeeeeee-uh, HEEEEEE-uh”
The first time I heard it, I jumped up thinking something was terribly wrong with one of the dogs. But no, the dogs were not even in the room. Then I realized the tortured animal was, in fact, my beloved.
I woke him up and told him. He kindly rolled over on his side and the noise ceased. The next day he didn’t recall any of it and seemed slightly doubtful that he would have made the horrific noise I made when demonstrating it for him.
The next time the squeaker showed up, I was still awake, reading a book. I was out of bed in a flash, grabbed my cell phone and recorded the phenomenon. Proof! I had proof the squeaker existed.
Dan was absolutely mortified when I showed him the video evidence the next day. The fact that he felt so bad and so very, very guilty immediately quashed my triumph.
He offered to sleep in the guest room and/or have throat surgery to remove the dying platypus. What do you do with that? He’s an innocent victim in this too and I can’t even vent my righteous indignation to him because he already feels so awful about disturbing my sleep.
I soon discovered there was a limit to his guilt though. In a catalog that was obviously meant for the geriatric set and mistakenly sent to me (and AARP, please stop stalking me too. I’m only 42!) I found a chin strap that would hold his mouth shut at night, thus preventing the squeaker from escaping and wrecking my dream time.
Dan refused. He feared he wouldn’t be able to breathe through his nose and would thus suffocate. I guess a senseless death wasn’t worth allowing me to sleep peacefully. I had finally found a limit to his love. He wouldn’t die for me.
The only way I can twist this into a happy ending is that I am also guilt free when I poke, prod and kick him until he turns over and the squeaker is contained again.