The Bed of Manifest Destiny and waking up to Operatic Vikings

Well, it has been a few days, and I am finally getting back into the routines of the daily grind. But not willingly, thank you very much. But to fill you in on the last 48 hours or so...

Tuesday night brought a spat between me and the missus. Long story short, she was already mad about something, and I didn't exactly help matters. But all is good now, thanks to some open communication between her and myself (one of the things I like most about our relationship is that we have been able to keep the lines open even when we are very mad) and also Pat (who is more like my own little Larry from 3's Company minus the gold chains and plus actual talent with comedy) and his sacrificing a container of chocolate peanut butter ice cream to She Hulk (my wifey when angry. Don't make her angry. You wouldn't like her when she is angry). But there is peace in the household again. Although I think there might have been just a hint of resentment. And that led to last night. And this morning...

Apparently last night Wifey became her own little version of Westward HO! (and no I am NOT calling her a ho. I thought I should make that PLAINLY clear, because the water just cooled down and I have no desire to get it boiling again). She started the night on what you could call "her" side of the bed. But that was not meant to last it seems. By this morning I was doing the equivalent of a high wire act on the edge of the bed, various body parts dangling over the edge like an awning over the floor below. That was slightly inconvienent, to put it mildly. But she has been known to want to Lewis and Clark the sleeping arrangements in the past, and apparently my side of the bed is the far end of the Louisiana Purchase. Maybe I ned an Indian guide.

But even that wasn't the morning shock that her alarm clock was. I know I have mentioned previously that she will set the alarm, but it is never loud enough to wake her from her sacred Odin-Sleep, so I have to keep tapping her until she grunts and rolls over and slaps the hell out of the clock. Honestly I don't think she is hitting the snooze bar so much as she is just stunning the damn thing so that it will shut up for a while. That is why the cats will only sit on MY side of the bed to meow about how sad their lives are. But anyway...

It seems that she got the message about setting the clock in a way that actually causes her to move without me having to be the stimulus to her response. There is one tiny unforseen problem with this. If it was loud enough to wake me up before, but not loud enough to rouse her, just how loud does it have to be in order to wake HER up, and how will that decibel level affect my rem stage?

Well to answer your question, it depends. And by that I mean it depends on what the alarm clock is set to. A standard alarm sound would have been omewhat jarring, but like most of you I am becoming a little immune to that sound. After 33 years, even waking up to it isn't quite as bothersome as it was in the past. But was that the sound? Nooooooooooooooo...

Was it some radio station? Yes it was. Was it the radio station we usually listen to in the morning because it has what I have found to be the best and most complete traffic updates and it has them about every 10 minutes? Nooooooooooooooooooooo...

I do not know what radiio station it was. I have never heard anything like what I heard this morning, except for when the Vikings started singing the Operatic Spam in Monty Python. But was it Vikings singing Monty Python? Noooooooooooooooooooo...

It was (and I cannot find any better way to describe this) as if a gaggle of Operatic Vikings decided to steal that old Gregorian Monks Chant idea, but just to keep it fresh, they decided to do a CD of whale songs. And record it at 45RPM just so they could play it at 33 1/3.

(Sidebar - I am not completely sure that "Operatic" is a word, but I like it, so it stays. And if it isn't a word, well it damn well should be)

I will admit that the sound DID wake up wifey. However, it also caused my heart to stop beating ever so briefly, and also my testicles to become so frightened that not even a borderline boiling hot shower could fully rouse them and make them un-tortise themselves. In fact, around 11 o'clockthis morning, I had what could almost be described as a second puberty as my testes dropped again, finally convinced that it was again safe to dangle in the way that only they can.

I humbly apologize for any lasting images now in your head.

So what is to become of all of this? Well, one of two things will be happening. Either I convince her to go back to the old way of waking up, which was annoying for me, but not nearly as catastrophic to my psyche nor to my reproductive organs. OR I will be changing the station on the alarm clock, adjusting the volume ever so slightly, and if I *ACCIDENTALLY* turn off the alarm clock, well, she doesn't have to get up that early anyway. She deserves to sleep in. And I deserve to keep my balls whee they are.