I am quite certain that I did not marry a Snoring Man. If I go back through my files, candidate 77365 (now affectionately known as The Coach), most definitely does not have a tick in the box marked Snorer. I was vigilant with my pre-marital research. No snorers for me, no no.
But somehow, somewhere along the shifting sands of time, my non-snorer husband has (rather sneakily I feel) become The Snoring Man. How and when this occurred is somewhat of a mystery, but now I find myself tossing and turning restlessly whilst glancing at the red glow of the AWA's digital display which likes to inform me that it is now 11.30pm, now 12.05am, now 2.15am, now 3.24am...arghhh, cursed red glowing numbers.
As the hustle and bustle of the day passes and the quiet darkness of the night settles upon us, a funny thing happens. The daytime Waffles who loves a silly joke and a spot of reality tv (hang on kids, I just need to check the caramelization of the meat before I can plate up and check that I have my thirty-seven components in place) is replaced with The Snorers Wife. Now I'm sure that The Snorers Wife would appreciate a good joke over a glass of red if she weren't so damn tired. The Snorers Wife is a woman who would just about kill for a good nights sleep.
Now we mustn't confuse The Snorers Wife with The Baby Mumma. If you were to walk around the shopping centre in the bright glow of the early morning sunshine, the two may be hard to distinguish. Sticky up, slightly wonky hairdos. Dazed expressions. Bloodshot puffy eyes peering out above dark smudged crescents. Triple-shot lattes. Mismatched clothing. Oh yes, hard to tell them apart all right, but if you look hard enough you will spot the clue, one will actually have a baby. The other, a slightly disconcerting glint in their eye.
The Snorers Wife has limited compassion. In the early stages of slumber, she will gently nudge The Snoring Man, prompting him to turn over. As the hours pass, the gentle nudges are replaced with gentle knocks which eventually give way to a sharp elbow in the ribs and an agitated
"Lie on your side and stop bloody snoring."
The Snorers Wife will lie in the darkness and wonder if perhaps the couch may not be a better option, sure she'll be cold and wake up with a crink in her neck which will require fifty or more visits to the chiropractor to sort out, but really, what price does one put on a good nights sleep ?
I wish there were a happy ending to this post. A miracle cure for The Snoring Man so that The Snorers Wife could be left happily in the land of nod where she belongs. But there isn't. I am still The Snorers Wife and The Snoring Man shall be back this evening. Perhaps I should go and have a wee siesta whilst the sun is high and The Snoring Man is a slightly hazy memory.
Are you a Snorers Wife ? If you have a solution for coping with A Snoring Man please feel free to share it. The Snorers Wife, The Coach's ribs and I would be forever in your debt.
5 years ago