There's Always the Tent Trailer

One-something a.m. and I'm wide awake staring at the ceiling, wishing desperately to go back to sleep. It's Sunday, the only day of the week we don't have to set an alarm, and I want a good night's sleep, dammit.

But sleep isn't coming. Instead, a steady unnnnnk-shoo rises and falls just next to me in bed. My exaggerated rolling over is doing nothing to interrupt the rhythm. In defeat, I grab my pillow and a blanket and head downstairs to the couch, praying that the sound won't carry through the ceiling. Pulling my blanket around me to protect myself from the cold, I close my eyes and sigh. Peace and quiet at last. . .

"Good morning, honey," I say when my husband enters the family room several hours later.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asks.

"Not really. It was a little noisy in our room last night," I explain.

"You should have told me to sleep on the couch," he says. "I was the one snoring."

"Exactly. You were sleeping peacefully, I was the one with the problem. It made more sense for me to come down here."

"How did you sleep?" he asks.

"Okay. Until the cats started jumping on the couch and Benny had to be shooed away from the Christmas cactus because he was eating it. Then he started eating the fern. Later, he and Penny both got on the couch and wanted to be in the same spot next to my legs on the blanket, so they started fighting."

"That doesn't sound too restful," he says.

"Not really. What I need to do is get a more comfortable mattress for the futon in the office. I'm not sure that's far enough away, you do snore pretty loudly, but at least with a wall between us it may dampen the sound enough for me to fall asleep."

"Well," he says, laughing, "there's always the tent trailer."

I laugh. Yes, I think, there's always the tent trailer. I just hope it never comes to that.

.