I was dragged from my slumber at about 2 am this morning.
I was SLEEPING!
Actually being asleep is a big thing for me. I don't sleep, I nap. I have Fibromyalgia and laying down for long periods is painful.
So, needless to say, I was sorta ticked off when my 4 year old came crawling into my side of the bed. Icy cold! "I am fah,fah, fahreeezzing, I need to sleep in your spot" he said. Being all sleepy and such I obligingly rolled over to make room, and am shocked out of my whits at the ice cold feet planted firmly on my behind! I had forgotten that I went to be in a tank and unders. Now these were not the normal everyday underwear us girls choose over those "special" panties. My washer is on the blink and has been for nigh on 2 weeks. Yes, you guessed it, I was wearing date night chonies. Around these parts we call them Friday Night Panties. These are much smaller than my day-to-day's, to which I lovingly refer to as my "Grannies".
I suddenly feel exposed. Very exposed!
So I decide that maybe I could tuck the blankets between us. What was I thinking? This disturbed the Inspector General who scoops up our poor frozen offspring and carts him off to his own bed, screaming like a mimi.
Well, I am a smart girl, so I stayed put and tucked my flabulous self back into the blankets. Several LONG moments later hubby comes back "freezing". Snuggling into my bubble space, he for some reason grabs a hold of my baby paunch. Not just that sweet little snugly fondle thing but a full on football hold. (Was he thinking touchdown??) I laid there frozen. Mortified. Should I jerk away in my shame, or just act like it wasn't me he was grabbin' and play dumb in the morning..........a thousand different escape plans ran through my head. Not one of them was feasible.
"Think... think. Think like James Bond!!" my mind screamed.
By now my darling husband is snoring like a lumber jack, hand still firmly grasping the hated pouch. After a few failed attempts to loosen his grip, I try to get up. The man won't give up. I am beginning to think that I will be stuck like this 'till 5am, or until he rolls over~heaven forbid! Visions of flying through the night air, not unlike a football to touchdown, flood my sleep deprived brain.
Now my hubby drives truck for a living. As a side effect, he also drives truck in his sleep. On many, many occasions I have been jerked (literally) awake, while my love is peacefully shifting his dump truck in his sleep, grasping a huge chunk of my hair!!
** Gasp you say? I have to agree.**
The fat glob grab is no different. With a firm hold on the "shifter" (IE: fat glob) he commences to "shift". I had to stifle a scream~leaping from the bed, I make haste for the commode. Trying to tuck my grossly stretched out fat back into my less than adequate undies.
( I am sure it wasn't that floppy before)
Lest I raise suspicion, I return to bed. Contemplating the purchase of a girdle and a new job for hubby.
I did not go back to sleep for fear of being "shifted" again.