“Hark, how hard he fetches breath.” ―William Shakespeare
There are a couple reasons I keep my husband. First among them is that he keeps the secret of my snoring. When we’re in a plane, in a movie theater, or lying on the beach, he is there to nudge me if I, uh, breathe heavily. He doesn’t even have to say the word “snore,” nor would he ever. No, never! He just looks at me lovingly in a way he reserves for just such occasions, and I know that I’ve been sighing, loudly.
“Did I snore?” and “Am I fat?” elicit the same response from him. “Of course not.” And I think he knows that one of the many reasons I will not have an affair (no energy, no hormones, no clothing right for the occasion), a big deterrent is my snoring. What would it be like to slip off to a Holiday Inn Express with a certain special someone, and in the afterglow, awaken him with my snoring.
At my age, I am not even sure a blood test would confirm that I’m a girl, so I protect every last vestige of my femininity, no matter how much plucking, moisturizing, lifting, firming, cleansing, peeling, and lubricating is required. Snoring is not for ladies. I am quite certain Doris Day never snored. Beyonce? Jennifer Aniston? No way! Tom Selleck and Johnny Depp and Richard Gere? Yes, as is their right as manly men. Them, and old fat men “resting their eyes” in Barcaloungers.
When I travel to writing workshops with my friend Teri, I take precautions against snoring: a Claritan and a couple snorts of Flonase before retiring; stomach slumber; a no-pest Breathe Rite strip stuck on the bridge of my bulbous nose.
But today when I woke up on the first morning of a recent conference and said, “I didn’t sleep a wink,” she laughed and said, “You’ve been snoring since five minutes after your head hit the pillow.”
And then she repeated it to ten other writers who are now probably writing about snoring, too.
This is the thanks I get after assuring Teri, in private and in public, that she does not snore either, even though her husband insists she does. He apparently does not know about the Snoring Code of Silence. I worry about their marriage.
By the way, if you hear that I fart, it’s not true. And neither does she. Fake News.
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