I slept on the couch last night. Not because I did anything wrong, but because I snore and my wife, who has always been a light sleeper, can no longer stand the dulcet tones of my sawing logs. The night before I woke up at 3am to find my wife and her pillow gone from the bed. This means one of two things: 1) One of the kids woke up and she needed to be with them in the living room or 2) My snoring kept her awake and the only way she could get some damn sleep was to go to the couch.
It's usually number 2.
I fucking hate that it's usually number 2.
When I was a kid, there was a joke in Mad Magazine where a mom was giving advice to her daughter:
The mother said, "Don't sleep with a man before you marry him."
The daughter says, "Okay."
"And don't marry a man who snores," says the mother.
The daughter replies, "But how will I know?"
Funny right? But it was the snoring part of the joke that has always haunted me. 'Don't marry a man who snores.'
I hate that I snore. I hate that people can't stand to sleep in the same room as me. I sometimes wake myself up as a result of my own snoring.
I've tried the strips. I've gargled the mouthwash. I've slept on the pillows. I've done the tests. It's not life-threatening sleep apnea. It's just snoring.
So when my wife is forced out the warm comfort of our bed because of me, I try to give her a night of peace and sleep on the couch. Cause I'm good like that. And because I'm guilty about it.
Mornings are hard enough. Waking up alone when you're married is the worst.
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