Nearly Every Single Night

95% of the time, I am the silly, feather-brained one and Trevor is the serious level headed one in our relationship. The exception to the rule happens every night in our queen sized bed at 10:30 p.m.

10:30
Michelle: "Goodnight babe, love you"
Trevor: "Love you too"
Light goes off.

 10:31
Trevor: "I can't sleep."
Michelle: "You haven't even tried yet!"
Trevor: "I can't sleeeeep!"
Michelle: "Try relaxing from your toes up"

10:33
Trevor: "My toes itch. How can I sleep if my toes itch?"
Michelle: "Maybe you should scratch them. If that doesn't help, then put some lotion on. Go to sleep."

10:34
Trevor: "Should I go deer hunting or elk hunting this fall?"
Michelle: "For the love of... I don't know, whichever sounds more fun."

10:35
Trevor reaches over to his alarm clock to make sure the volume is turned up. He turns it on.
"Hey! I like this song!"
He starts to dance. In the bed.
Michelle: "I swear if you don't turn that off and stop disco dancing I'm going to smother you with my pillow"
Trevor: "I'm not disco dancing, that's 80's music"
Michelle: "Yeah, but you were doing that little finger thingy, that's disco dancing"
Trevor: "But it's 80's music!"
Michelle: "Go to sleep!"

10:37
Trevor: (singing) "I'm with yooooou, Scout! Because we help each other out! Yeah I'm with yoooooou Scout!"
Michelle: "What. Are. You. Singing."
Trevor: "It's from that one dumb show with the blue and purple puppies on the alphabet farm that Atticus likes. The song is catchy though"
Michelle: "GOOD NIGHT."

10:40
Trevor starts to snore.
I heave a sigh of relief, roll over and get comfortable again.

10:43
My mind starts humming "I'm with yoooou Scout..."


And this is why I wake up later than Trevor every day. Because after I started humming that dumb song, I started thinking about how if I'm going to listen to a story about a Scout, then that story had better also involve Calpurnia, Jem and Boo Radley. Also, there is no such thing as a blue or purple puppies, and if you see one it's probably because it's been through inhumane testing at a cosmetics facility. So, the moral of the story is always put sedatives in your husband's dinner.