The Pitfalls: Earthquake-Level Snoring
In the interest of full disclosure, I must admit that I have always been hyper-OCD about certain sounds causing me mental distress. For example, when someone has a cold, the sound of them sniffing obsessively makes me inwardly homicidal. Likewise, a running toilet puts me on the precipice of madness. So when my fiance suddenly became a snorer three years and eight months into our relationship, I couldn’t just call it a dealbreaker and bail — we live together and share a dog, so we can’t break up over the fact that his midnight sinus warbling are freaking killing me. Sometimes I’ll take a melatonin before bed because it puts me in such a deep state of REM that the rumble of the truck laying next to me goes unnoticed; other times I’ll just gently roll the snorer onto his side, lessening the likelihood, for whatever biological reason, that it will last all night. A couple nights ago, I even put on his soundproof headset, but the vibrations still pummeled through so I moved out onto the couch and shivered through the night under a thin blanket like Oliver Twist. Occasionally, I’ll resort to meanness, implying during the light of day that last night’s music is probably related to his marginal weight gain. Oops. The snorer is out of town for a week on business, so I’m getting a full night’s rest, though it’s a lonely one. When he gets back, I’ll have Breathe Right strips waiting, but in the event they don’t work, I’ll need a Plan B. Got any ideas Frisky girls? I really am missing my uninterrupted dream life and don’t want to have to kill someone to get it back.