SLEEPING RITUALS (or sock cleats)

I love my bed and can’t wait to get into it at night. But I especially like my electric blanket and I rush out of the bathroom in my nightshirt and scramble under that cute, tan blanket. But with my toes taking a little longer than the rest of me to warm up, I usually keep my socks on until they start to warm up too.

So I have this problem: what to do with the socks? He used to throw them aside, but when the sock graveyard started to take over the bedroom, he would throw them in the washing machine. But, you know, even being there, those socks in that little graveyard looked a little sad, helpless, and gloomy … a little boring.

UH OH. Did you say boring? If there’s something I can’t stand, it’s boring. Well, we must do something about it.

My socks became weapons of torture for Jeff, as he usually waited until he felt nice and comfortable and about to lose himself in his book, then very quietly and carefully I would reach down and remove a sock. I slowly move my hand with a crumpled sock on top. Slowly, slowly, though while pretending to study the knocks on the ceiling. But this is where I have to be VERY QUICK AND GET IT INTO YOUR UNDERWEAR.

I’m not usually successful anymore. Unfortunately … Jeff is on my tricks. Life used to be so simple. I put my socks in her underwear and screamed and screamed. Now I TRY to put my socks under his underwear and all of a sudden he goes from being a husband quietly reading this raging bull, huffing and waving.

What a view! Now we bang on the bed as he frantically throws all the covers, looking for the OTHER sock that he knows is surely waiting for him. But I’m not going to give up so easily. I have to be successful with at least one sock. And I rarely do.

A few minutes later, there I was, totally stripped of all weapons and he was hitting me on the top of my head with my socks. I have the appearance of a total defeat, but in reality I am planning my next move. And I just smile sweetly at him.

Sometimes, because I love my bed and my electric blanket so much, I go to bed long before he does. But now I don’t have any victims for my Sock Wads. I study the ground. NOT. My sock cleats don’t deserve such a boring death! They must be executed in style!

OK, what to do? Well, we’ll take one and put it on your side of the bed, under the covers, of course. And the second … let’s see … how about under the pillow? And he ALWAYS forgets, at least until he throws back the covers and finds the first one. Sometimes I have the satisfaction of him getting into bed and lying on top of one. There’s those grunts and grunts and grunts again, transformed into a flash into Sock Beast. He does not return to the Quiet Guy until his thirst for blood is completely quenched and satisfied.

Now if I’m asleep the Sock Beast sometimes wakes me up with its flails and growls, but mostly it just shakes things up so much … who could sleep? But he’s getting so used to my tricks, sometimes we just lie there so quietly, and all I have to do is make the slightest move and he transforms into the Beast and pulls the covers and tries to get my own socks. . off my feet for me. Isn’t that sweet?

But what if I’m still not ready to have my socks taken off and especially for such a crazed animal? By the time it was over, there I was, once again stripped of all my weaponry and he was hitting me on the top of the head again with a sock. I go back to studying the bangs on the ceiling with an occasional Mona Lisa smile to him, or would you call that the Cheshire cat smile?

I once managed to gain some ground in this night war. Having gotten there a few minutes before him, I reached down and picked up a sock that had bounced around the room since the night before. I hide it under my back. Here it comes, now, shhhh.

He gets into bed and talks about one thing or another. I reach down to remove a sock and the transformation begins with bulging eyes and growling teeth. Take one sock off my foot and now go for the other. I’m doing my best to hold onto that second sock. Now we’re both growling and growling, hair standing on end. Add some HISSES and the image is now complete.

He is satisfied and gets into bed. Once again, I have been stripped of all the cotton torture tools that can be used against him. He thinks. Slowly, slowly, ahh very carefully, I reach under my back and begin to crawl slowly to his side of the bed.

He looks at me.

I smile.

You think I’m lying. He’s not worried, he just took both of my socks off by brute force. Then ignore me. I smile and look at him as I continue my walk, and then FASTER THAN FAST, I have that Sock Wad in his underwear.

The look of pure amazement that crosses his face … ah, it was worth getting hit with the sock that night. Now I am happy and I can sleep. But Jeff is now the one lying awake, unable to sleep, eyes wide open and pacing, fear frozen in his face.

He he