"I want to... do it.... Can we? MMmph? It's a furnace in here."
"Holly? Holly? HOLLY!!! I know what I want to do with my car."
My husband talks in his sleep. Especially when he's exhausted. But unlike most of his fellow sleeptalkers, his conversations are not one-sided. He likes to wake up to a semi-coma state, put his face thisclose to mine and slur words in my face. And my face? It's often asleep. And then pissed.
I once tried not answering him and ignoring him to see if he'd go back to sleep - or at least shut up, but it was an epic fail.
He just got louder.
And started climbing me.
So as I pulled my laptop up on me in bed and finished up an email to a friend the other night I was none too surprised when his ghostly pale and hairy face swam into my peripheral vision. He was up on one elbow and squinting at me.
"What? What is this? What IS this?" He was clutching his pillow in awe and showing it to me like it was encrusted in diamonds instead of man-drool. "What IS THIS?!" Apparently he thought it was a magical portkey to another dimension filled with v-8's and topless models because he was downright incredulous of the thing.
So I did what any sweet, nurturing and wonderful wife would do.
"It's a fuckin' pillow. You put your head on it and go back to sleep."
And he did.
I think I handled that quite well.