Pseudotherapy

My husband is the best snorer in the universe.

Seriously. He has an entire repertoire of snores, one suitable for any mood. My favorite is what I call his “white noise” snore, a low-key, steady, gentle rumbling that is incredibly soothing. I’ve fallen asleep to it many times, and find it to be an excellent cure for insomnia.

Then there’s his Jurassic Park snore, which sounds quite amazingly like you’re being stalked by a velociraptor. A combination of higher-pitched growls, clicks and the grinding of teeth, it’s been responsible for scary dreams and unpleasant awakenings more than once. When I’m not sleeping, it makes me giggle.

By far the most impressive, Bret’s Wrath of God snore resembles nothing so much as a hellacious Georgia thunderstorm without the lightning. The first time I was startled awake by the WOG, I woke Bret up yelling that we were being bombed. I don’t understand how such sounds of mass destruction can emanate from a human being. The WOG is impossible to sleep through, and I usually wake to find the cats cowering in terror in the corner of the closet.

Last night I experienced a new snore. It had a definite pattern to it, a specific cadence that repeated itself over and over in a most hypnotic fashion. Listening in fascination, I soon found myself actually humming along: hmm-hmm-hmm-MMM-hmmmm… I got so caught up in the rhythm that it kept me awake, humming, for nearly two hours. Bret was quite disappointed when I told him he’d slept through a two-hour hummer last night.

P.S. : For those female readers wondering how I can enjoy Bret’s Symphonies In The Dark, let me share with you my mother’s words of wisdom. When I asked her how she could sleep through my father’s boomings, Mom smiled and replied: “When I can hear him snore, I know he’s there.” Spoken like a veteran military wife!