Husband has been snoring at night. (I think I should start referring to him as "'usband" in a sort of Eliza Doolittle voice-- it makes me giggle). It started maybe a month ago. We both noticed that as the weather started to change, so did the level of snot in our noses and throats, and while my just continually drains down the back of my throat and makes it sore, his stays stuck, apparently, like gooey peanut butter in the back of his airway, causing him to rattle and shake when he breathes deeply at night.
I'm a light sleeper. There's a dog that lives out our bedroom window and across our neighbor's backyard onto our neighbor's neighbor's deck, and at least two nights a week I wake up to a poodley sounding "yap... yap yap... yap... yap yap." And yes, it keeps that same rythm, that musically trained poodle, for hours at a time. Quite annoying. Between that and the snoring, well, these dark circles under my eyes keep getting darker and bigger and deeper. I stuffed toilet paper in my ears for a while, realizing while sitting in the bathroom in the middle of the night for one of my 3 am pees (I'm like an old woman), that I could roll up half a sheet and stuff it down in there, and that was enough to at least drown out the yap yap. But not the 'usband.
I got frustrated last night, asking him to roll over at least twice. It's not a constant snore. It's random. He'll be quiet for half an hour, then all the sudden he'll let out one loud SNAAA and then quiet again. Just enough to wake me up completely. He made a particularly loud noise at about 2 last night, to the point that I flopped over on my back so hard I shook the bed, and then I let out a little whine and sigh, so he stood up, grabbed his pillow, and walked to the couch. I didn't say a word. I slept hard until my alarm went off at 7:30. Today, on his day off, his only task is to go buy me some real ear plugs.
We went to dinner with friends last night. It was a birthday celebration, so the birthday boy got to pick the place. Everyone loves this restaurant, they all rave and say it's their favorite, the best shrimp and grits and steaks in town. I've had the shrimp and grits there. Eh. 'Usband doesn't like it either. I had fully decided to eat a salad and then pick up Sonic on the way home if I was still hungry (grilled cheese and onion rings... talk about gourmet), but they had changed their menu a little and added an interesting looking grouper dish with a hollandaise sauce and new potatoes and wilted spinach.
It looked interesting, but that was about it. The hollandaise tasted like butter and mayo whipped together, which don't get me wrong, those are two of my favorite things, but if I'm paying $20 for a dish, I expect more creativity. The potatoes and spinach were ok but boring. The fish was at least cooked well. Overall, I was not impressed though, and the chicken my husband got was just so-so as well. I hate so-so meals in general, but with a $68 tab, I was annoyed the rest of the night. I think the birthday boy enjoyed his pasta at least.
I was hungry the rest of the night too since I could only manage to put away half my piece of mayo-butter bathed fish. At some point a Dunkin' Donuts commercial came on, and no I was not tempted by the donuts, no, not the coffee either. The muffins. I got the oddest craving for a muffin, particulary the apple cinnamon friendship muffins that my mom used to make all the time. (They're called friendship muffins because the recipe makes so much dough you're supposed to give some of it away to a friend, but you can keep the dough refridgerated for up to two weeks while you use it up, so we used to just make a batch and keep the dough ready for freshly baked muffins every day for a couple weeks.)
I emailed my mom, as if she would be up at 10:30 pm, and asked her to send me the recipe. She emailed me back this morning and said that she hadn't thought about those in a while, but thanks, she now has a craving too. She'll send me the recipe tonight when she gets home from work. I can't wait. I can taste the warm fluffy apple cinnamonyness now.
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