barometric pressure

My husband used to sleeptalk. Eyes wide open.

One night as I was  almost in a dream, my husband rolled over, sat up, and said cheerfully,

” Did I ever tell you about  how barometric pressure works? It’s really fascinating.”

I rolled over and pulled my eyelids open.  It was 1:oo A.M.

” Ummm, could you  tell me about this in the morning?”

WELL!!”  in an injured and aggrieved voice. “I thought  you would have wanted to know.”   

Whereupon he grabbed the blanket, rolled over and went back to sleep. Assuming he was actually awake during this transaction,

which left me wide awake, staring at the ceiling, blanketless, wondering,

what the hell just happened?”

To this day he won’t explain barometric pressure to me. “You had your chance.”

Not heard in the classroom or NAIL THAT SUCKER TO THE FLOOR

My husband once  made the cardinal error of suggesting that, should I run out of things to write about, I could write about him.

Be careful what you  innocently and generously offer your wife.

As anyone who has ever been in my house or classroom knows, I am not a paragon of organization. I try a little bit harder with actual cleanliness issues, but hey, I’m doing my best. Or something like that.

Anyway, the point here is that I had an objection to his  underwear on the floor.  All of which were inches from the hamper. No wonder he never made it into the NBA.

I pointed this out to my husband a few times, who may or may not have listened to me.

Many years ago  I chastised a male friend  for cavalierly commenting that he wasn’t listening when his wife told him something of interest. He looked at  me very seriously and said,

“Well, does your husband listen when you talk?”

So, I went and got a hammer and nailed his underwear to the floor.  At least three pairs.

He didn’t notice for four days.

When he did notice, he just went and got a hammer and calmly pulled the nails out of the carpet.

A week later  I picked up all his dirty socks, which were tossed decoratively around the hamper on the floor like offerings to a household god, and put them in the drawer with the clean socks.

“Do you know how all these dirty socks got in my sock drawer?”    A voice over from the Exorcist answered.

“I PUT THEM THERE”

” Oh, ok. Fine. No problem.  I was just wondering.”

Lest you consider trying this novel approach yourself, consider that all  that came of it  was a good anecdote, and I have a husband with a sense of humor.   But I’ve heard people get great results using crazy glue. If you have, please post a comment and let me know.