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Dalton
Roberts |
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Never marry a woman until you have slept with her. No, I am not talking about sex. I am talking about sleep. Before you accuse me of sexism, remember that I have only been married to women. Let those who have been married to men tell their stories. A reader writes, “I married a woman I thought was very normal. One night in a peaceful sleep I heard screams and awoke to hear her babbling about spiders falling from the ceiling. Another night she streaked from the upstairs bedroom to the downstairs hall screaming that someone was in the bedroom. She divorced me and after five years of peaceful sleep I married another ‘normal’ woman. I was awakened an hour ago by her screams. She had dreamed she was butting heads with a billy goat. Maybe I need to start a new group called ‘Men Living With Nightmares.’” I call this kind of mate an on-stage dreamer. They actually act out their dreams. If they dream of butting heads with a billy goat, they will pound the pillow or crack your gourd. If they’re dreaming of riding a bicycle, they’ll send the bed cover flying when they stick their feet up in the air and pedal. The advanced state of this condition is the sleepwalker. I was married to one. Our bedroom was upstairs and I lived in terror that she would walk to the top of the stairs and topple all the way to the bottom. I could never sleep deeply. Every time she got up at night, I would watch to see if she was sleepwalking again. Then there’s the cover hogs. I believe this comes from being raised in poverty. They have never had enough of anything so they must wrestle what they want from the world and roll up in it. In another life they were a tumblebug. My psychiatrist, Dr. Zigmund Frogg, said, “A cover hog does not consciously desire to freeze you to death but you are just as dead when you are unconsciously frozen as when you are consciously frozen. Science has proven, when you’re dead, you’re dead.” Let us not forget the cold feeters. You can be deeply sleeping and dreaming of Hawaiian lasses hula dancing on the beach at Waikiki and when those cold feet hit you, the dance is all over. A cold feeter will not just freeze your feet. They get sideways in the bed and hit you in the small of your back with those icicle clodhoppers. Then there are the fetal ball curlers. No cuddling with one of these. You can’t find a handle. It’s like sleeping with a round ottoman. Freud postulated that we assume the fetal position due to a perceived threat that makes us want to return to the warmth and security of the womb. It may make them feel warm and secure but you will feel cold and alone trying to hug that round ottoman. One bit of advice to all husbands about snorers: Never tell a woman she snores. It offends their femininity or sense of female decorum. They may wheeze like a clogged vacuum cleaner, bubble like a giant sea turtle, and snort like a wild boar but don’t you dare tell them. In case you have the bright idea to tape them, let me warn you from experience that this is an invitation to violence. They will fix you with a cold stare and say, “If you ever play that for anyone, you are dead meat.” If the religion of your bride-to-be won’t allow her to sleep with you before marriage, do not weaken. Say, “You can wear five pairs of coveralls and get your father to sleep on a cot in the corner with a sawed-off shotgun but we are going to sleep together before this Greyhound leaves the station.” You will thank me on those cold winter nights.
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