Do not try this at home. He was quite drunk.
Craig grinned the other day as we were getting ready to go to sleep “I found your song! Remind me to play it for you. Some other time.” great. Cause I do so well with anticipation*. A few days (and one reminder) later, an mp3 arrives at my inbox:
Whole Lotta Rosie by AC/DC
Huh. Well. I do like Rosie as my nickname but … whole lotta? As in trouble? As in? hmm. Worrisome.
But I do like AC/DC** so I start it playing:
Wanna tell you a story
‘Bout a woman I know
When it comes to lovin’
Oh she steals the show
Eesh. Much less romantic than I’d hoped. Although it was about what I’d expected. I grit my teeth just the teeniest bit.
She ain’t exactly pretty
Ain’t exactly small
Forty-two, thirty-nine, fifty-six
You could say she’s got it all
Wait … WHAT?
This is the point where I start to fervently hope that Craig hasn’t actually been paying attention to the lyrics.
Never had a woman
Never had a woman like you
Doing all the things
Doing all the things you do
I should certainly hope not! See, Craig and I have been dating since I was 16 and he was 17***.
Ain’t no fairy story
Ain’t no skin and bone
But you give it all you got
Weighing in at nineteen stone
Okay. Really? REALLY?
First of all, does he even know how many kilos there are in a stone****? I know I’m not skin and bone (and I have very little desire to be so) but … ugh.
And secondly! in combination with the not pretty lyric? You just don’t send this to a person you’re hoping to ever see naked ever again.
Just then I notice an email Craig sent mere minutes after sending me the mp3:
Actually I think its about a very big woman, so not you.
He’s a very lucky man. This is the response I sent him
Even though I wasn’t really mad. Bemused! who DOES that?
* I don’t.
** Shush. Hair metal is my not-so-secret shame.
*** Yep. Really.
**** It’s 6.35 kilos for every one stone.
Last night, after turning off the lights and whispering wishes for sweet dreams, Craig curled his arm over my side & his head into the base of my neck and lay there, falling asleep.
This might not seem like a lot to most people, but Craig and I do not sleep entwined, arms and legs in a knot of a person.
No no, we can’t, we have radically different body temperatures.
During the day, Craig can wander around wearing jeans and a tee-shirt while I need a cardigan, and a jacket. And sometimes also a scarf. Bizarre.
He swears it’s because he was born in the desert (UAE) and as such? immune to the cold. I think he’s just a robot.
But as soon as the sun dips below the hills and we depart for bedfordshire* all of a sudden Craig requires a duvet during all seasons of the year, and sometimes a blanket as well, whereas I need the window open and sleep below just the sheet. With wet hair. Occasionally, on extremely frosty nights I will use the duvet but most of the time? Our bed ends up looking like this:
If (IF) we do end up falling asleep touching, as soon as Craig is completely unconscious, he starts twitching.
I thought it might have just been when we were completely curled together but I experimented (hee) and even if I leave one arm lying over him, or a hand, ONLY THE AREA I AM TOUCHING BEGINS TO TWITCH.
Craig’s subconscious hates me**.
He often accuses me of stealing all the room in the bed. But actually? what happens is I scoot closer to him (I tend to get cold after a while, usually around 2am, what with the wet hair & open window & sheet & all) and he subconsciously scoots AWAY FROM ME. Hateful.
And on top of the heat differences, and the twitching, and the scooting? I can’t stand feeling anyone’s breath on me while I am trying to get to sleep. Not even my own***.
So last night, pretending like we could sleep in a knot? I knew that Sir C did miss me as much as I missed him.
We lay for minutes and pretended like we were falling asleep, pretended we were in the movies, but we can only be ourselves****, he gave up & I let him leave, his breath had been damn distracting. I snaked my feet over and rested them against his calf. The one thing we can manage. Our connection through the night.
* Yes. I am a whimsical character from 1950s Britain. Why do you ask?
** I’m sure it doesn’t really.
*** Good Lord we sound crazy. Is it just us? How do YOU sleep?
**** I wouldn’t have us any other way.
Earlier tonight …
Me: Don’t! it’s gross and inappropriate
Craig: What? Like our Love?
That Craig, always the romantic.
Craig grew his beard for Six months and Three days.
Why? Just to see how long he could make it. He wanted to shave it after 4 months but fool that I am, I convinced him to try and make it 6 months.
Which of course he did.
And what did we learn? That he can go without shaving for a very long time.
And that a full grizzly-adams beard is less terrifying than an intense 70s moustache.
From this :
(Sweet, darling husband.)
To this :
And this :
(oh. dear god. terrifying.)
And finally finally finally this :
It all started when Karma gifted me with a big old fight with my husband.
which started with “shave your beard!” “no”
which progessed to “shaaaave your Beeeaaarrrd!!!” “no, I want to see how long I can grow it”
which progressed to “if I to shave my Armpits and Legs then you should shave your face” “uhh … no”
which progressed to “Why won’t you shave your beard? it hurts me when I kiss you” “nooo-ooo”
and ended with me ignoring Craig. Which is always a bad sign.
So he shaved his beard and we of course made up and talked like sane people and reached a beard compromise. I understood that Craig really did want to see how long he could grow it, and since I do the same thing all the time (Hmm, I wonder how long I can go without Mcdonalds? (3 years so far) Hmm, I wonder how long I can go without soda? (coming up on a year)) I felt I should help him.
So! as long as he keeps the moustache part trimmed and tidy we will continue with his Grizzly Adams project. I’m going to take weekly photos to track his progress.
And so :
Then our Tuesday nights got busy and I forgot for awhile
and still it continues …
Craig : No, I hate you
Please note. You are coming into this in the middle of a very silly argument (about what? Who can say?) and it was very late and I had been drinking wine and we are both talking in silly voices.
That being said …
Me : No you love me. You want me to have our babies
Craig : No, no I don’t. I’ll just find anothe-
Me : But then they won’t be OUR babies and our babies are going to be the smartest and the prettiest …
I apparently couldn’t think of any other superlatives. I blame wine-addled priorities.
Craig : Well yea … or they could have your looks and my brains.
On Friday night apparently I went Crazy.
I woke up just before 2am with the intense KNOWLEDGE that there was a horrifying, creepy bug crawling across the bed towards me, heading right for me, possibly with a view towards paralyzing me with poison and eating me very very slowly while Craig slept on mere inches away.
But I digress (when do I ever not?), in my mind (or at least I think it was, I’m still not sure if it was real or not) this bug was a cross between a weta and a daddy long legs spider – all menacing arched legs and swaying body – so I was sitting up in an instant, looking back at the space of warm sleep softened sheet I’d just been lying on. Now of course it was covered with ominous dips and whorls, hollows perfect for hiding bug assassins.
At about this point I was staring at the sheet, trying to track the bug IN THE DARK, when Craig turned over and looked at me. In the instant it took to see him, I LOST THE BUG, so of course I whispered (who was I afraid of waking? Maybe afraid of giving away my position, always stealthy am I) “there’s a bug in the bed” and he just looked at me.
So again I said, “there’s a BUG in the BED” and again he just looked at me – perhaps as though I was crazy – of course I was terrified because I’d lost the bug and Craig WAS NOT HELPING.
I thought about lying back down for about a second, but I didn’t want to become bug prey, and besides, any husband that won’t turn on the light to help his panicked wife find a huge horrifying bug deserves to be pouted at, so I grabbed my cellphone (I had an alarm set), and flounced out to the lounge.
I ended up sleeping on the couch. I was wrapped in 2 bright green blankets and, being rather short, I do fit on the couch so I wasn’t cold or uncomfortable, which was unfortunate because that sure would have showed Craig.
I waited until it was light enough to spot bugs and went back to our bed. I sat there with a book and Craig turned over “morning baby” … “… morning”
I spent the next few hours pouting at him with half my mouth because really, he should have mentioned something, until finally I did and found out that HE HAD NO IDEA WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT.
He had been asleep the whole time, when I was being terrified by the bug and when I flounced out to sleep on the couch – HE HADN’T EVEN MISSED ME.
So, I had a fight with Craig while he was asleep. That takes dedication.
It reminds me of the 22nd December 2005 when I wrote this :
Last night was a little Crazy.
by Last night I mean at 1:47 this morning.
I woke up to Craig throwing our ENTIRE duvet off the bed. I immediately thought of Kirk in Gilmore Girls (eep) and the documentary airing on tv tonight about Night Terrors that lead to violence (eep). He sat up and huffed as if he couldn’t sleep because he’s too hot, so no night terrors. I put my hand on him and got no response (seriously eep!).
He then leaned over, gathered up the blanket, covers himself, lies back down and makes going to sleep noises.
me : uh Craig?
c : yea?
me : you awake?
c : yea
me : you sure?
c : yea
me : 100%?
c : … yea?
me : because you just pulled the blankets completely off me, threw them on the floor, then put them back all on you!
c : oh baby !! I’m sorry !
me : it’s ok. But uh give me some blankets though.
And, on a not completely unrelated note :
This morning my alarm woke me up from a very very strange dream where the movie March of the Penguins (which I have not seen by the way) was about an aquarium (but shaped like a very large swimming pool, nothing in terms of fake natural habitat) that houses white whales and white seals, and as it was a little small the seals kept being whacked about by huge whale-tails.
I felt very badly for the seals.
Apparently my sub-conscious doesn’t realise that whales and seals are not exactly Penguins at all.