Member-only story
In Your Dreams, Winona, In Your Dreams.
How my wife achieves harmony and disdain in the bedroom.
“I don’t use drugs. My dreams are frightening enough.” M.C. Escher
My wife is very upset with me right now, and when I say upset, I mean volcanic. She’s beside herself, a hissing gorgon, if you want to know the truth. I’ve endured her wrath on numerous occasions, but when we start talking gorgons, that’s about as creepy as Winona’s going to get.
In any case, my love, my heart, my reason for accurately hitting the toilet bowl in the morning, is now thoroughly upset with me. She refuses to explain, except to say that my actions are, in no uncertain terms, “unforgiveable.”
For my wife to wake up and say that, I have to go through the obvious first. Either I snored too loud, gave her the jimmy leg, or passed wind worse than the dog. Anything’s possible, but something tells me it’s none of these.
So what is it? What have I done to raise such ire?
Usually that perks her up, even if I can’t sing, and I wouldn’t make this kind of effort if I knew it was just me farting like the dog.
