SLEEPING : IT ALL HURTS

Sleeping: It All Hurts


I recently purchased my dogs a couch; at least that's how it turned out. Our cats turned our our old couch into something that looked like a really big sea urchin. The new couch is just decoration for visitors. We take the cover off when company comes. Hopefully they do a lot of yoga. Ive tried to sit on it, but it's so low I opted for my son's old playschool chair. I sat on the couch once. My legs hurt so bad I had to roll of the sofa to my hands and knees and crawl over to something high enough to pull myself up. The next day my knees felt like I'd been drinking with Tonya Harding's ex-boyfriend.

I was browsing through a catalog for people, we'll say... over 35 that offer a kind of an ejector seat with springs to help you stand up with minimum grunts. Unfortunately they snag sometimes when standing and cause me... uh heavier people one hell of a wedgie.

They say the first things to go are your knees. I have no idea who “they” are, but “they” are idiots. Sleep is the first thing to go. The term”golden years” refers to the time spent on your way to visit Mother Nature, or if you're a feminist, Father Nature. Every hour there is a very long and urgent trip on the yellow brick road fraught with the danger of wild animals and other pets sleeping in strange places. Some nights even involve dodging flying monkeys, depending on what you put in your prune juice.


If you make it back to bed, your spouse will attempt to stop your snoring by pushing you out of bed. She says I routinely emit nocturnal sounds that scare the squirrels out of the attic. Sleep apnea is no laughing matter. If your wife doesn't kill you, that little boxing bag in the back of your throat will choke you to death for smoking strange cigarettes and singing Inagodadavida twenty times a day in 1969.

My good friend and doctor prescribed a c-pap machine that prevents snoring. It blows air into your nose so you will not quit breathing. It also makes you look and sound like Darth Vader whistling for his dog. It's a real turn-on for your wife. Sex by the way is no problem... what so ever.

Speaking of music, I was playing the air guitar to 60's music in the grocery store the other day and was embarrassed to realize that people were looking at me like I'd just grown a third hand out of my forehead. I just smiled and waved at them with my coupons in a radical fashion that said, :Hey! I survived Woodstock and I'm still not in Depends.”

Morning is always a very special time of day for me.  Sun is shining the little children next door are playing, squirrels chattering, birds chirping and I am wishing I knew where my wife hid my BB gun.

I'll get a little off track here, since we're talking about mornings. There is a special needs man that lives next to us. It's like living next door to a big five year old. We love him. He follows us around and asks what and why we are doing things in our yard or where we are going. I wish all my neighbors were so loving. The only drawback is that I the morning he sometimes comes out and bangs the trashcans and yells, :Bark, Bark!” at the dogs to get them to pay attention. He's a lot smarter than people think if he can speak dog. The dogs, in hopes of some meaningful conversation, excitedly bark back.

I'll stumble out in my pajamas and plead, “Ben! Quit barking at the dogs!” How many people can say they ask their neighbor to quit barking at their dogs?

I love my wife more than anything in the world, however she and I both hate everything until ten AM. We made a deal. We don't speak, look at, or try to kill each other till an hour after we get home from work. This practice and an extra bathroom would save a lot of marriages. In the morning, Honey's and my son's ablutions ensure I have to get up two hours early because it takes about an hour for my hair and body to quit aching and to get a crack at the bathroom so I have enough hot water to take a shower.

Oh look! It's time for my walk. If you notice me ambling aimlessly down the street don't worry, I probably just drank some of my special prune juice. Call my wife and tell her where I am.

Curmudgeon Out