Tuesday, November 13, 2018

Snorage Wars

Let the record show that Val has been a bit under-the-weather with a virus wafted over her face by Hick's breather. I'm sure that was how I contracted it. I am not around people, save a handful each day in assorted convenience stores. I know not to touch my face after I've been out, until my hands are washed. I veer away from coughing people, or hold my breath until their germs have settled.

I even avoided the Hickovirus when he was at his most contagious, starting on Friday, November 2nd. I made sure I wasn't in the path of his exhalations. Was careful of sanitizing my hands after touching the remote beside the La-Z-Boy, and sink faucets, and the handle of FRIG II. I'm virtually a one-woman staff of my own Center for Disease Control. I stop short of manufacturing my own vaccines, though.

So, with Hick not admitting to feeling much better, but sounding like he was knock-knock-knockin' on death's door, then turning the corner...I felt like I was home free. Surely a man can't be contagious for 8 days. Well. Hick is no regular man.

I started feeling not-so-great on Friday. Chills. A little pain in my right lung and right ear. The side exposed to His Royal Hickness in the marriage bed. I can only surmise that Hick's potent virus got into his breather, which he hasn't been cleaning since he didn't feel good, and set up shop inside. To waft out at night, upon Hick's expelled breath, to invade my orifices and mucous membranes.

Anyhoo...I've had much worse sicknesses. But I dared to mention to Hick, "I don't feel very good today." And that just-escaped-the-Grim-Reaper's-clutches Hick had the nerve to say, "Huh. You just have a cold."

It's hard to sleep with congestion. It's harder to sleep with a big bulky man-arm shoved up under your pillows. Leave it to Hick to choose this trying time to burrow under my nearly-nodding noggin. Sometimes, he's tricky about it. I returned from the bathroom, having consumed extra fluids all day and evening to combat my sickness, and settled in for two more hours sleep before I had to arise and prepare for a routine 6-month office visit to keep my prescription train running.

Ahh...under the warm quilt with added blanket on top. My pillows just right. I was drifting, drifting...


WHAT in the infernal Not-Heaven WAS that?

Oh. Just Hick, scratching at the underside of my pillow. As much as I'd like to give him credit for being an evil mastermind, I cannot. He's always done this crap. Some people tap their fingers, jiggle their leg, crack their knuckles. Hick scratches whatever is handy. Like the bottom of the table beside the La-Z-Boy. I don't know why. He denies that he does it.

When Hick pulls this stunt when I'm sleeping, I've been known to reach my hand back over my shoulder, grab his wrist, and get downright indignant about it. This time, I didn't have the strength. I was almost in dreamland when I snapped awake in a nightmare.

"Get your hand out from under my pillow!"

I didn't shout. But it was my stern teacher-voice. The scratching stopped momentarily. Started again. Then stopped. I can only guess that Hick fell into a deeper sleep and accidentally stopped tormenting me.

When the alarm went off for me to wake up, Hick said, "You were talking in your sleep."

"No. I knew exactly what I was saying. I told you to get your hand out from under my pillows."

"I didn't have my hand under your pillows."

Hick needs a framed needlepoint that reads: "Lying Doesn't Make It So."


  1. Any old cold is no fun, especially at night time.

    Kudos on "Snorage Wars" you are the title queen!

    1. You know I love my titles! As much as Hick loves Storage Wars.

  2. Have you checked Hick to see if his pants are on fire?

    1. I have not, but I would welcome the added warmth.

  3. I'm not going to get into the middle of this. But I just wanted to ask: shouldn't Marriage Bed have been capitalized? (Since you're an ex-schoolteacher, y'know.)

    1. I don't know. I've never seen it capitalized, but that doesn't mean it shouldn't be. I don't do a lot of reading about marriage beds, and I don't recall ever mentioning marriage beds in class.

      Like an off-duty gynecologist doesn't ram his arm up into the hoo-ha of every woman he meets, and an off-duty NASCAR driver doesn't put the pedal to the metal at 200 mph in a constant left turn when he runs to the convenience store, and a preacher doesn't drag passersby into into the ocean and hold them under when he's at the beach...I don't always follow proper grammar rules on my blog. Because I'm off-duty. It's not like I'm writing a Master's thesis every day.

      Run-on sentences are my favorite. I make up words. Use prepositions to end sentences with. And I start sentences with words I shouldn't. Write in sentence fragments. Don't proofread as thoroughly as I think. I love words, and have a general idea of how to use them, but I don't feel obligated to follow the rules. Kind of like how Hick builds themed sheds without instructions. We're freelancers!

      Now, the Truth in Blogging Law...that's something else entirely! I always obey those rules.

  4. Not feeling so good is NO excuse for not cleaning your breather. and the scratching hand is just plain creepy, even more so when it's under your pillow. Pity you can't set a mouse trap under there. Or anything else that would cause an immediate retraction of his hand. why can't he scratch under his own pillow FFS?

    1. I even hauled home a jug of distilled water that he requested for the cleaning! The thought of Hick sticking his hand in a mouse trap has given me the silent giggles.

  5. Truth in Blogging is a Law? Oops.