Monday, January 18, 2010

Memoir Monday: The Missus And Our Headboard.

(Hey guys and gals. It's Memoir Monday time! This is where you write down a story about yourself, steal my button down there, drink a beer, and call it all a win. The only rule is that it has to be true, other than that, there are no rules. I keep getting more and more people to follow my lead! It's catching on! Will YOU be one on the bandwagon this week? Once you post, let me know, and I will link you up down there for all my kick ass bloggy followers to go and read! Y'all are the greatest, and I love you. If you want to see all the Memoir Monday posts, just click on the book!)



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Well, that title should probably alienate the rest of the readers I have left after getting rid of most of them by telling the entire internet that apparently, I have a small penis.

I'm gonna make that the last time I mention that.

I found out that a 14 year old girl and all of my brothers church friends read my blog, and I probably need to clean it up around here, with the exception of TMI Thursdays.

We all know that won't happen.

This is about the Memoir though. So let's get started.

I have done some crazy things in my sleep. Sleepwalking is one of the worst, but I think I'm over that now. The last time it happened, I was about 16, and my dad almost shot me as I walked out the door at 2 A.M. to go to a friends house.

The Missus says I talk a lot in my sleep. I fully believe that this is because I can't shut up even long enough to get 8 hours of sleep.

However, this is a story about her, and why I'm afraid to go to sleep first when we crawl into bed tonight.

One night, we were enjoying a peaceful nights sleep. Crickets chirping quietly outside, the howling of neighborhood dogs, and my Powerstroke diesel engine-like snoring.

I woke up for some reason. I don't remember why, but it probably had to do with dogs howling. Which is why I think dogs should be shot. Don't give me any shit over that, either.

Anyway, I wake up, and my lovely bride is staring right at me.

Right. At. Me.

My first thought is, "Hey, alright. Some midnight action!"

I was soon proven wrong.

She stares at me for about 2 minutes, and finally I ask, "Hey, are you okay?"

Her response?

She reared back and punched the ever lovin SHIT out of the headboard.

I'm not talkin a tap here, folks. This was a punch. Have you seen The Hangover? The scene where Mike Tyson punches Zach Galifinakasisassasissaisiaasis?

Yeah, it was every bit of that hard.

I don't mind telling you, I pissed myself a little.

As soon as the punch was completed, her eyes closed, and she hit the pillow. It was the weirdest most scary damn thing I've ever witnessed in my marriage.

I couldn't go to sleep for hours. I just kept imagining what it would be like to take that punch. Especially just being asleep, and not knowing it was coming.

When she woke the next morning, her knuckles weren't sore at all, and to this day, she doesn't believe a word of this story.

It happened though, and for sure, I don't go to sleep first anymore. I watch. I've also perfected my rolling out of bed technique, and if need be, I'm not afraid to sleep on the couch.

I also learned that if I ever have to fight The Missus, I need to develop a defense for a right hook that has the ability to put a dent in maple. I really think that subconsciously she wants to hurt me, and she wants to hurt me bad.

Can anyone give me karate lessons? I think that might be the only way I'll survive this thing.

 

Other Non-Sleep Punched Walks Down Memory Lane: GO READ THEM!