Here is the culprit who caused my little domestic dispute in the wee morning hours…
Seriously? How can you get mad at that face. Of course, this is the way I see her.
This is the way Honey sees her. (Probably a more accurate depiction)
But that’s beside the point. To set this up, Honey and I had been in bed for a few hours when our little canine creeper snuck into our room. Mind you, she has her own little bed with the best blankets and lamb’s wool—yeah, well never mind about the hundreds of dollars I’ve spent on making a “Princess and the Pea” bed for her. Just trust me on this. In a pinch I’d be tempted to sleep in it.
So anyways, she does what she usually does and creeps into our room to sleep on the “emergency” bed (think of this like the pull-out you keep for company) as before I retire for the night I slip this out from under my side of the bed for my girl. (Keep that one under your hats folks, because Honey doesn’t know about it) he just thinks she’s so desperate she’s sleeping on the floor. <- God forbid! Hey, it’s been working for well over two years now, swear.
So there we are last night, both wide away at 4am because out little “princess” has a cold and is snoring like an overweight trucker who tied one on. Of course I’m ignoring our duvet shaking in the ear-split sound waves she’s producing, when Honey’s had enough and orders her to go to her bed. *sniffle* The sad and pathetic sight of her drooping her way out of our room really upset me. I mean, what’s the loss of one night’s sleep so our furry butter-cup can be happy?
Honey wasn’t amused and neither was I. You can bet I was steaming when he started drumming the mattress (for those of you who don’t know about this little habit of his click here). I shoot up on elbow and growl, “Do you mind? Quit doing that. I’m trying to get some sleep.”
I flop back down on my pillow and stare at the ceiling, still in a huff for him kicking my baby’s ass out of our room, when he curls his arm around my waist. I wasn’t going to be sweet-talked. I turned away, but he still hauled me to him so my back was against his front.
“You’re going to call me out for this when the dog’s snoring sounds like a 747 is landing in our room?”
He curled down and kissed my temple, and then cheek, but I remained strong. “Yes.”
“Don’t be mad at me,” he breathed. Then he started to nuzzle my neck while he squeezed me in tight and I was just forgetting about everything until he whispered, “I’m not mad at you for luring her in here every night with the dog bed you hide under ours.”
Dammit. My eyes pop open and I’m left staring at his big hand. Watching his fingers annoyingly tap on the mattress. His message was clear. If I wanted to keep the sneaky hide -a-away for my girl, he got to keep his annoying habit.
Oh, and I guess, by now, you’ve figured out there’s no need to keep that one under your beret anymore, because laissez le chat sur le sac… FYI, I’m trying to master French for no other reason than it drives him crazy. And not in the, Gomez Addam’s to Morticia way either. More like, my Tweety bird to his Sylvester. Why every time I call him a beautiful tree, he thinks I’m swearing at him. *dreamy sigh* Yes, it’s all about inflection. Say it like you mean it.
I’m so bad. Poor guy.