My wife would sleep like a rock if only a rock softly and sweetly snored. You get the point, though. Once she falls asleep, she doesn’t move.
Tutankhamun — King Tut for short — has nothing on her.
Me? I flop like a fish on the floor. Bad shoulder on this side that needs moving … sore hip on the other side that won’t settle down … a cramp in the foot that has to be stretched.
.And then there’s Nature’s call — make that calls. Old dudes like me know what I’m talking about.
Because my wife likes our bedroom dark — Mammoth Cave dark — I plod to our bedroom’s adjoining bathroom feeling for door corners and tender-footing over decorative pillows that I have tossed on the floor. Actually, I know the route so well that I could do it in my sleep, which I almost am on many of those trips.
But I am still conscious enough to remember my wife’s No.1 rule. When I am going No. 1 at night with the lights off and my aim apparently in question, I am to sit down to do my business.
Not exactly a manly feeling, but I get her drift about my drift. The older I get, the more errant my aim has become. And then trying to perform without the benefit of lights makes it all that much trickier.
So yes, I take my wife’s edict sitting down.
A few nights ago, I awoke with the urge and did what I always do. I tossed off the covers, found the floor with my feet and cautiously walked through a doorway and the dark before backing into position.
As I lowered myself slowly down, I didn’t notice anything odd until ….. contact — make that human contact! “YEEOW!” I shouted while jumping about four feet.
That was immediately followed by an “EEEEK!” and that didn’t come from me.
I had landed not on the toilet seat but on somebody else’s lap. Fortunately, it became quickly evident that it was my wife’s lap.
Let me tell you, though, that was one of the weirdest feelings I have ever experienced. It was 10 times more surprising — and unsettling — than sitting down on a whoopee cushion.
My wife had gotten out of bed without me knowing it and made one of her rare nighttime visits to the bathroom. Like me, she kept the lights off. Before she was done, she probably felt like Santa Claus with an overweight child suddenly sitting on her.
“At least you weren’t standing and not knowing I was there,” she said. “That could have been catastrophic.”
A stream and a scream I’m sure.
This is where I ask those readers who are offended by tales of childish behavior to quit reading. Sorry. Of the 15,000 or so stories I have written over the years, I have never mentioned the following. Probably with good reason. But I do think it gives some perspective on why I am able to embrace unorthodox piddling practices.
Okay, I warned you. Here goes: When my sister and I were little kids, we would often go to the bathroom at the same time. There was only one toilet in the house and she would sit on it to do her duty while I would stand there and say, “Make a crack.” She would then spread out her legs and I would take aim at the open space afforded me. I never missed. Nothing but water.
Like I said, we were little and I didn’t hover all that high above the toilet. But I was still perfect with my aim. Ask my sister.
Now I am the sitter — at least at nighttime.
“I’m glad I trained you well,” my wife said as we settled back into bed after our Close Encounters of the Urge Kind.
“Yep, you have become my No. 1 teacher,” I replied while bracing for a thrown pillow to my head.
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Contact Bill Moor at [email protected]