A couple of months ago, I’m lying in bed, when Jesse shakes my shoulder and says “Honey, slide out of bed RIGHT NOW – there’s a giant spider over you. Get out of the way so I can kill it!”
He makes sure I am wide awake by yanking my pillow (!) to safety while my head thuds onto the mattress and I consider what he has just said. He has my complete, undivided attention, of course – as a matter of fact, I am buck naked, wide awake, and standing in the doorway ready to make a run for it before he finishes the sentence.
I know there are those big honking orb spiders in our back yard, and I am in constant fear that one will *shudder* crawl on me and I will die from a fatal attack of the willies, so I am more than speedy at running away while he kills it to save me.
He uses the purloined pillow – which I will be expected to sleep on after this – as a weapon. (His term is “pimp hand”, because apparently I live with Snoop Dogg or something.) He’s really swinging it, whacking the holy hell out of everything on my side of the bed.
I’ve had a little time to think, while this goes on. As a matter of fact, now that I really consider it, it’s 3am and pitch black. I ask, “Honey, can you see the spider? What kind was it?”
“Um, it’s gone.”
“Okay… how did you see it in the dark? How did you know it was going to land on me?”
Slowly, using the interrogation method, I uncover the fact that he DREAMED there was a spider coming to get me. I find it very endearing that he saves me in his dreams, but on the other hand it’s 3am and I’m wide awake with kind of a headache from all the whacking sounds and the willies have arrived and I’m not sure I want to get back in bed EVER and certainly not right now.
My husband is snoring. I’d kill him, but then there wouldn’t be anybody to save me from the actual giant spiders.