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The Marital Bed…Of Shame!

Every night, the Missus likes to spoon me and whisper sweet nothings in my ear as I drift off to sleep.

OK, maybe not every night, per se, but most nights.

Well, a lot of the time anyway.

Fine. Occasionally.

When she’s drunk.

The frequency isn’t really the point here, just know it’s more often than you get the same treatment.

From my Missus, anyway.

She’s always here with me.

That’s one of the benefits of the lock-down: I always know where she is and the lawyers can’t call it stalking.

Anymore.

But I digress.

The thing is, recently this whole “turn around so I can spoon you and quietly praise you” went from “Aw yeah, AWESOME” to “Oh crap, no!”

Why, you ask?

Three words:

Home brewed coffee.

I was never a huge coffee drinker before the lock-down. And to be perfectly honest, I’m still not a fan of the stuff. But lock-down, well, this may come as a shock to you, but it’s led to some problems.

The whole not having to drive into work, toil myself down to the bone, and then drive home from work an exhausted, broken, former shadow of a man thing kinda sorta disrupted my sleep schedule.

Oh sure, avoiding the daily commute and a demoralizing work day seems like a good thing, but

1) I still have to be demoralized, I just do it from home now with the added benefit of laggy internet, and

2) I somehow got the idea in my head that since I didn’t have to drive to work, I could stay up later and just roll out of bed right before the start of the workday.

Big mistake, that second one.

I end up staying up WAY too late, rolling out of bed just a hair too close to the start of my first meeting, struggling to make my way to the home office with eyes sealed shut by sleep crust, and desperately trying not to snore during said meeting.

(The Missus says I snore so loud I’m afraid my coworkers will hear even if I’m on mute.)

There was only one solution to this problem.

Coffee.

No, not going to bed earlier and setting a proper alarm.

Coffee.

And for awhile it was going great. The coffee boosted my awareness / consciousness, I got through the day without my soul completely sucked away, and, having stayed awake all day, I was able to go to bed at a reasonable(ish) hour where I would (occasionally) drift off to the dulcet tones of the Missus telling me how wonderful I am while ensconced in her warm, warm embrace.

Except not.

Because now when I crawl into bed, I deliberately face towards the Missus and secretly dread the singsong request to turn around and prepare to be, as the Tick might put it, “Spooned!”

(Spooooooned!)

“Who’s my yummy bummy sweeteekins,” she asks.

“Oh God, not tonight,” I scream (in my head, because I’m not so foolish as to diss the Missus right before entering the helpless sleep state…RIGHT NEXT TO HER FUMING SOUL).

“Who’s a wonder-thunder-dunderkin awesome-sauce tubby hubby,” she breathes into my ear.

“Can’t you just go to sleep and leave me alone, and also, I’m working on the gut!” I retort back (again, just in my head).

“Are you a special, amazing, wonderful human being who is perfect in every way I could possibly hope,” she gushes throatily.

“Not tonight, woman! But yes, yes I am,” I whine back in a pitch carefully calibrated to be inaudible to her ears.

What’s the problem, many of you are asking just about now. Especially those of you who’ve been married as long as the Missus and I have – this sort of fawning attention is UNHEARD OF this many years into marriage.

I’ve already told you the problem:

Home. Brewed. Coffee.

More specifically, home brewed coffee that causes stomach distress such that you desperately, feverishly need to but don’t want to let loose a barrage of avalanche-inducing farts while your beloved Missus is clamped to your back.

(Also, I’m convinced my coworkers will hear these bursts of gas even if I’m on mute and the meeting doesn’t start for hours. They. Are. That. Powerful.)

Think how far back THAT might set your matrimonial relationship!

So I am forced to mumble something about being SOOOO tired, throw in a few fake snores, and then “toss and turn” until the business end of my digestive system is pointed away from the ol’ Missus and then, finally, blissfully, happily, I can safely set the blankets a-flapping.

Unless, like that one time, the Missus is feeling romantic and has sprinkled rose petals all over the floor and bed and covered every non-cushy horizontal surface with lit candles.

Egads, woman! Don’t you know the bedroom is not the place for romance!?

Yeah, that was an interesting insurance claim.

Now, I know it’s been a rough year. I know people are looking for good news instead of bad. And given it’s nearly the end of 2020, I simply can’t go out on such a negative note, leaving you all worried about the status of my marriage and my sensitive digestive system.

That’s right, I actually have some good news, a sense of hope I can impart after this tale of (quite literally) nauseating woe!

J'accuse!

There’s a fish! In the percolator!

It turns out the coffee maker we used to make our home brewed coffee had mold in it.

Yes, if you have one of those single-serving coffee machines with a reusable brew basket and you leave the wet grinds in it, mold starts to grow!

I had no idea.

But once we took the mold out of the equation, the digestive system more active than the volcanoes on Io went into remission.

That’s right. I can now be safely spooned and nuzzled and sweet-nothing’ed every night.

OK, maybe not every night, per se, but most of the time.

Well, a lot of the time anyway.

Fine. Occasionally.

When the Missus is drunk.

Which reminds me. I need to restock the liquor cabinet.

 

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I decided to be more creative this year and all I got was a lousy ear infection.

Turns out I’m not just super smart, I’m too super smart for my own good.

I know, I’m as shocked as you are. It never occurred to me that one could be too smart, though all modesty aside, if anyone ever was, I would be an obvious candidate for that label.

Now just how did I come to this epiphany?

The usual way:

A long period of inexplicable bubbling, hissing sounds with no obvious source but that came off as the blob from that 50’s horror movie sneaking up on me, followed by the psych ward, and then, after a psych referral, by a visit to my increasingly long-suffering doctor.

But first, you know how too much traipsing about at high-speed in running shoes can lead to fungal infections on your feet?

No, apparently it’s true! I may not have much direct experience with this ‘exercise’ thing or its common side effects, but I’m reliably informed the above is a real thing. Something to do with heat, sweat, moisture, itchiness, and stench-ridden shoes.

We live in a strange, cruel world.

Also, one where healthy people need to buy new shoes more often than they’d like.

Or do.

Seriously. I’m looking at you, Leo! Either buy a new pair of shoes or stop standing so close to me! That smell? Hurting me!

Jeez!

Well, after my little tête-à-tête with a non-psychiatric representative of the medical establishment, I am forced to conclude that the same thing is true from running your brain too much.

Yes, that’s right, I have an ear infection. Confirmed by a doctor, no less. An actual doctor! Of medicine!

I have been struck, in the prime of my life, just on the downward side of the flower of my youth, with Athlete’s Ear.

Tragedy of the highest order.

Now my doctor didn’t call it Athelete’s Ear. Possibly because diagnosis of the disease is so dreaded, but more likely because he wanted to impress me with his expertise, he went with the medical term for it: a fungal infection.

Actually, he used an even more medical-ly term, Otto-is-my-psychosis or something along those lines, but hey, I had an ear crammed full of fungus when he said it, so it was hard to hear properly.

That’s right. The fungus gets all up in your ear canal, blocks things up, and causes pressure differentials that lead to fluid hissing and bubbling from your Eustachian tube, in, through, and beyond the ear drum, and into the ear canal.

These are not the magic mushrooms you are looking for

Athlete’s Ear looks like this, only with the ants deeper in the ear and being immobile white fuzz instead of ants. Not shown: disgusting yellow gobs of ear wax.

So my fears about an invisible blob stalking me turned out to be unfounded. Ha ha, I was only committed for three days for believing that. Good times…

Here’s the important bit, the proof I’m too smart part: the medication prescribed for me to drip into my ear to stop the fungus and return me to a decent quality of life? Normally used to treat Athlete’s Foot. But in extreme cases when the lives of important people such as myself are on the line, it can also be used “off label” in a last-ditch effort to treat what I like to call “extreme academic illnesses” such as mine.

(There was also some tiny-vacuum-cleaner-in-the-ear-so-don’t-move-your-head-at-all moments, but they were unpleasant and I don’t like to talk about them.)

What this all boils down to is that either my return to writing has been exercising my brain too much or I’ve strained my hearing muscles due to indulging a little too much in a repast of loud, fast noise.

Since my ear muscles aren’t bulging with newfound bulk, and as it is a well established fact that I only sample speed metal while encased in a sound proof cask a minimum of two kilometers from the source¹, I’ve clearly been thinking too hard of late.

Ergo, it is my brain that is overworking, leading me to be super smart while generating enough heat and moisture and shoe-stench to encourage fungus to grow inside my ear.²

Ah, the fruits of my mental labors.³

¹ Citation needed (other than this one)
² I suppose another likely explanation is that an invisible alien blob sprayed its spores in my ear, and those spores grew tendrils which reached into and networked with my brain, increasing my thinking power, but as that would mean I’ll go back to being stupid once the infection is clear, I choose not to embrace this theory.
³ Not actual fruits. While (probably) non-toxic, do not attempt to eat ear fungus! Also, do not taunt ear fungus!

 
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Posted by on 14 January 2019 in Other Blogs

 

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