Friday, October 31, 2014

Remove Your Elbow From My Back, Val Said Pointedly

Alas, my friends, Val did not have a restful slumber last night.

The moment I plopped myself onto my side of the marital bed, I was stabbed in the back by my sweet baboo. That’s right. A left elbow intruded between my shoulder blades. That’s the proximal end of the ulna poking the space between the scapulae, plural for scapula, in science teacher talk. Of course I squirmed to get away, but it followed me, that pointy implement of torture.

I felt like a chunk of beef speared by a skewer. A maraschino cherry pierced by a plastic sword. A cocktail weenie stabbed by a festive red-cellophane-frill-tipped toothpick. Like a cube of day-old bread impaled by a fondue fork. Like a whale harpooned by a…well…a harpoon. That princess with a mere pea under her stack of a hundred mattresses had nothing to complain about.

When I dared voice a complaint, Hick denied that his bony protuberance was in contact with my thinly-padded spinal column. He then moved the offending appendage, rammed it under my pillow stack, and denied that it was there. “My arm is NOT under your pillows. Your pillows are on my arm.” Hick would argue with a guy when he stumbled and accidentally stuck his chocolate bar in the guy’s peanut butter. I can hear it now: “No! YOU got peanut butter on MY chocolate!” There is no arguing with Hick when he’s in denial. But that doesn’t mean I can’t try.

“Duh. I KNOW my pillows are on your arm. So why did you put your arm UNDER my pillows?”

Hick snorted and removed the intruding limb, choosing instead to breathe me into insomnia.

Here’s the worst part. The salt in my between-scapulae wound. Hick got up this morning and told me to wake him in an hour. He was going in to work late, because he was tired.


  1. And you tell me that hotdog flinging is bad!

  2. And probably in one and almost three-quarters school years from now, you will be rubbing salt into MY wound when you wish me a great start to the school year...from the comforts of your couch.


  3. You did set the clocks back? Just for fun? Oh you should have.

  4. Have you thought of separate beds? No always the sexiest way to go, but visitation nights can be fun.

  5. joeh,
    Hot dog flinging IS bad, but it wouldn't keep me awake all night.

    Yes. I will, Madam. I will spend my forever vacation sending you updates on my slothfulness. If you decide to sue me via your lawyer Jackie Chiles, you'd best make yourself familiar with his stance on using the balm for your wound.

    No. I didn't think of it. The Pony and I could have left early, just to make the time shift plausible.

    I think of separate beds every time Hick's raptor-worthy talon stabs my shin. If he could simply stay on his own side of the bed with his talon, his elbow, and his breath, we wouldn't have a problem. Let's add farts to the own-side list as well.