Imagine my horror last night when my husband casually affirmed that I do, in fact, snore “to beat the band.” Really? Really? Since when? When did I go from a “sometimes heavy breather” to an official “snoring fiend”? I am really struggling with this one folks. Cellulite, funky vision, stretch marks, grey hair – I’ve found ways of compartmentalizing all. They’re are all things I could potentially do something about having. But snoring?
What am I going to do about this information? Because, like, only old people snore. And apparently me. Who is decidedly NOT old. Heck, I’m just barely middle-aged according to categories from the 1960s. With current life expectancies, I’m still wet behind my cute little ears.
As you can see, I may need an extra cup of coffee and a cocktail/glass of wine to wrap my wee head around this one.
So after dropping this little bomb, my most excellent husband said, “But it’s not bad.” Since when is snoring not bad? I’m pretty sure he meant, “I can cope with it” and that reaffirms my devotion to the man.
Because I fall asleep upon becoming horizontal (well, even that is not an absolute necessity) and I wake for no one under the age of 10 and not the fruit of my womb. So somewhere along the line of being my “room mate” for 20 years, this man has learned to still love me even though I am a slumbering percussion band.
I guess snoring is relative – yet another bit of evidence pointing towards the power of genetics. Both my parents snore – I always know when they are within a 20 mile radius. (Love you Dad!) So now I wonder if I am going to truly become my mother, complete with her brow furrows and snoring technique?
So, any tricks out there? Am I forever destined to sleep with a strip across my nose, causing my husband to dream, not of large women (the best movie, ever!), but of burly athletes?