BEDTIME RITUALS (or Sock Wads)

I absolutely love my bed and I can't wait to get in it at night. But I especially like my electric blanket and I run from the bathroom in my sleep shirt and hurry under that nice, toasty blanket. But with having toes that take a little longer than the rest of me to warm up, I usually leave my socks on until they start feeling toasty, too.

Then I have this problem: what to do with the socks? I used to just kind of throw them off to the side but when the sock graveyard started overtaking the bedroom then I would throw them in the wash. But, you know, even just lying there, those socks in that little graveyard looked kind of sad and forlorn and bleak... kind of boring.

UH OH. Did you say boring? If there is anything I can't stand, it's boring. Well, we must do something about this.

My socks became weapons of torture for Jeff as I would usually wait until he was nice and comfortable and about ready to lose himself in his book, then I would very quietly and carefully reach down and pull off one sock. I slowly, slowly move my hand with a wadded up sock over. Slowly, slowly - although the while pretending to study the bumps on the ceiling. But, here's where I have to be VERY QUICK AND GET IT IN HIS UNDERWEAR.

I don't often succeed anymore. Alas... Jeff is on to my tricks. Life used to be so simple. I put my socks in his underwear and he would yell and scream. Now I TRY to put my socks down his underwear and all of a sudden, he turns from a quietly reading husband into this raging, snorting and flailing bull.

What a sight! Now we are beating each other in bed while he frantically throws all the covers off, looking for the OTHER sock that he knows is surely awaiting him. But I'm not going to give up so easily. I've GOT to succeed with at least one sock. And I rarely do.

A few minutes later, there I lay, totally bereft of all weapons and he's beating me on top of my head with my socks. I have the appearance of total defeat, but actually I'm plotting my next move. And I just smile sweetly at him.

Sometimes, because I love my bed and my electric blanket so much, I will go to bed long before he does. But now I have no victim for my Sock Wads. I study the floor. NAW. My Sock Wads don't deserve such a boring death! They must be put to death in style!

OK, what to do? Well, we'll just take one and kind of put it on his side of the bed, under the covers, of course. And the second one... let's see... how about under his pillow? And he ALWAYS forgets, at least until he throws back the covers and finds that first one. Sometimes I do get the satisfaction of having him actually get in the bed and lay down on top of one.IF I'm still awake, I watch the frantic scramble as he looks for the second one. There's those grunts and growls and snarls again, transformed in a flash to the Sock Beast. He does not return to the Quiet Guy until his bloodthirstiness is thoroughly quenched and satisfied.

Now IF I'm asleep, the Sock Beast does sometimes wake me with his flails and snarls, but he mostly just shakes things up so much... who could sleep? But he's getting so used to my tricks, sometimes we'll be lying there so peacefully, and all I have to do is make the slightest of movements and he is transformed into the Beast and yanking back the covers and trying to get my own socks off of my feet for me. Now isn't that sweet?

But what if I'm not ready for the socks to come off yet and especially by such a crazed animal? By the time it's all over, there I lay, once again bereft of all my weaponry and he's beating me on top of the head again with a sock. I go back to studying the bumps on the ceiling again with an occasional Mona Lisa grin for him - or would you call that the Cheshire Cat Grin?

Once, I did manage to win some ground in this nightly war. Having got there a few minutes before he did, I reached down and picked up a sock that had been bounced around the room from the night before. I hide it under my back. Here he comes, now, shhhh.

He gets into bed and is discussing something or other. I reach down to pull off one sock and the transformation begins with the bulging eyes and the snarling teeth. He gets the one sock off my foot and is now going for the other. I'm doing everything I can to hold on to that second sock. Now we are both snarling and growling, with hair standing on end. Throw in a few HISSES and the picture is now complete.

He is satisfied and crawls into bed. Once again, I have been stripped of all tools of cotton torture that can be used against him. He thinks. I slowly, slowly, ahh so carefully, reach under my back and begin the slow crawl to his side of the bed.

He looks at me.

I grin.

He thinks I'm bluffing. He's not worried, he just got my TWO socks off of me by brute force. So he ignores me. I grin and watch him as I continue my trek, and then FASTER THAN FAST, I have that Sock Wad down his underwear.

The look of sheer astonishment that crosses his face... ah, it was worth being beat with the sock that night. I am happy now and can sleep. But Jeff is now the one who lies awake, unable to sleep, eyes wide open and darting back and forth, the fear frozen on his face.

Heh heh

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