I’m going to start by saying that Husband was not excited about me writing this post. Actually, he told me not to do it. Period. He threatened me. He said that if I wrote this post, he would send it to my parents. While Husband is the best in many ways, he clearly has not learned that telling me not to do something is the best way to get me to do it. (Or maybe he does know me and wants me write this post…am I playing right into his hands?!? MIND FREAK!)
Bottom line: I shan’t be controlled by fear and manipulation (and also Husband is out “exercising” or whatever, so if he chooses personal health over watching Mad Men with me, then he has to deal with the consequences). This week’s post is all about married life and sharing space. Below I’ve illustrated two stories about Husband and I sharing a bed (and no, theses aren’t going to be sexy, so go elsewhere/everywhere else on the internet for that sort of thing). Before I go on, I must establish one fact: Husband normally sleeps like the dead. Thunderstorms, Kosbie throwing up, me talking – none of it will rouse him, which makes the following occurrences even more remarkable.