Would I have to start planning outfits around the tattoo like I plan for weather?
Using the colloquialism "catching some Zs" is like declaring war with me. Snoring, in my hyperbolic estimation, is one of the worst things you can do to another human being. Because if you are snoring and I know about it, then guess what I'm doing -- not sleeping.
There you are, slumbering happily, whilst loudly sawing logs with your nose machine, and there I am seething quietly on my side of the bed considering how much of an asshole I want to be. Do I a) suffer through your incessant wheezing or do I b) shake you awake and hope your nasal passages will be shamed into submission? Guess which one I choose most of the time?
Guys, I'm not even talking about opposite-part pajama parties. My own beloved mother snores in a symphony that would rival the Philharmonic. Whenever she visits, we always sleep in the same bed because, duh? We love each other. But what I don't love is her snoot flute. Once, it got so bad, I started jumping up and down on my side to rouse her. This I considered more respectful than the Shake N' Wake.
"Why do you keep doing that?" she asked sleepily while on the down slide of the mattress coaster I was creating.
"Because you're SNORING and I can't sleep, lady!"
"Oh," she said before rolling over on her side, giving me a blessed 10 minutes of silent shut-eye before the Proboscis Pandora started up again. Did I mention I was 31 when this happened?
I even broke up with a guy who snored. Not so much because he snored but because of his reaction to my reaction to his snoring. One night it reached a pitch so fevered that I sat straight up and yelled at the back of his head, "Do you fucking mind?!" Granted we had other issues. He turned over wide-eyed and when I explained that I've never been able to sleep with a Dino-snore he said something I'll never forget, something that encapsulated all my rotted feelings toward him: "So now we're both awake."
Was he being selfish or was I?
Funny thing is Miles, the pug-of-my-life, snores like a sleep-talking beat boxer. And to this day, he's the only "person" I can to be within 10 feet of while the Olfactory Olympics goes on in his nose. I mean you can't blame the little guy for breathing! And when other smush-faced-dog lovers commiserate over their minis' snoring I always laugh along and think, "Yep that's our Miles."
Sure, I'm familiar with the fact that snoring could be a sign of other inside-your-body issues like a deviated septum (which is not a thing celebrities made up) or sleep apnea. But since none of that is contagious, I've been pretty okay with being a jerk about it up until recently.
Most of my friends know I'm a light sleeper and an anti-snoring rights advocate, much how everyone on "Friends" knows Joey hates sharing food, but I never really told my boyfriend that for fear I'd sound insanely and rightly selfish. He announced in the beginning that he only snores on certain occasions and I could handle that. Then, of course, those occasions actually, well, occurred and I was scared of my own ridiculous reactions, seeing as how my track record isn't impeccable.
Remarkably, I've been able to deal -- only poking him a few times and getting perturbed even less. One time he even whispered groggily, "That must've been some good sleep," before switching positions and instead of going off, I smiled -- even felt slightly bad for waking him, which might be tres shocking enough to shake me of my you're-snoring-phobia.