I’ve been suffering some sleep deprivation due to assorted appointments and obligations and threats of jury duty this week, so last night was the first night I could look forward to a full 8 hours of blessed repose. When I went to bed at 5 a.m., everything was arranged so I could sleep through the morning (door propped open to keep the cat from scratching to get in/get out, telephone ringer turned off, fan on to mask the noise of the corn harvest). My husband works 3rd shift and upon returning home he always tiptoes upstairs and gets the dogs and takes them outside, leaving me to sleep, and so he did this morning. Then he sat down in the living room and put on his noise-blocking wireless headphones so he could watch TV.
At around 10 a.m., the bedroom door few open, slamming against the wall, and in the doorway stood my husband shouting, “What’s WRONG?! Are you OKAY? What HAPPENED!?” After I popped my eyes back into their sockets and returned my heart to my thorax where it belonged, I asked him WTF he was talking about, and he told me I had been screaming for help and saying that I had fallen. I was skeptical; I once woke myself up laughing but I have never been a sleep-talker or a sleep-screamer. I apologized anyway and tried without success to go back to sleep. I finally dragged my exhausted carcass out of bed and went downstairs, where the husband sheepishly admitted that he had dozed off on the couch with his headphones on and only woke up when the LifeAlert “Help! Heeeelllllpp! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!” commercial sent him dashing to my rescue.
On the one hand, I’m so tired I want to bludgeon him with a pipe wrench for interrupting my only peaceful night of sleep, but on the other (winning) hand, it’s pretty damn cool to know he’s ready and willing to save me should the need arise.