Wonderful, I thought. See....I don't really care that he goes out on a school night, I just know that I have to prepare for what inevitably lies ahead for when he stumbles home and the lack of sleep that will likely happen. I met some friends out for a drink after work, and was successfully home from the ci-tay by 7:45...enough time take the dogs on a long walk, prep my stuff for the next day, and chill out.
I call Bayou at 7:30 on my way home.
Me: Hey babe, heading home now.....how are you guys doing?
Bayou:: Oh hey TBag....we are wrapping up now. Putting the hammer down. I will see you real soon.
(This is hilarious because our boat is a pontoon with a 25 horsepower engine)...."Hammer down" is laughable.
Me: Ok...sounds good. (Knowing damn well those tards are at Blarney Island, and judging by every other time we left that place....he has at least 45 minutes of a boat ride back to their shop, then at least 30 minutes of dicking around and a 15 minute drive home)
9pm rolls around.....I'm headed for bed. I call again to say goodnight.
Me: Hey....are you heading home? I'm going to bed soon....try not to be too loud coming in.
Bayou: Oooooohhhh mmphhhhheeeyyyy bbbbeeeebbbbbbbbaaayyy.
Awesome. He went from tipsy to retarded in just over an hour. Can't wait.
9:45pm...he falls in the back door. I know this because I heard 3 dining chairs move and the THUMP! THUMP! of each of his shoes dropping to the ground. I am fully awake now.
10pm- he makes his way upstairs....sloshing around, turning EVERY. LIGHT. ON. I pretend I'm asleep so he can find his way to bed without further keeping me awake. I was wrong.
11pm- First night terror starts. I wake up to Bayou screaming and thrashing around. To which I grab his arm in an attempt to wake him up and tell him to roll over (it quiets him down). He then grabs my arm and shakes it violently for whatever reason.
11:30pm- Second night terror...again, a lot of yelling about caulking and sealing something. I forcefully put my hand on his chest in an attempt to calm him down again. To which I am told that I am an awful person for moving him. I ignore this.
12:30- Bayou is now full on ninja fighting someone in his sleep. Like...moving the ENTIRE bed. I start yelling. WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON. He sits up....eyes closed and says "I don't know" and goes back to bed.
1am- same shit as before
2am- This time it's muffled murmurs and he gets up, shuffles downstairs to pee, and finally goes back to bed.
I have been up every time with him.
5am- My alarm goes off. FUCK. I want to poke my eyes out with hot daggers or have someone hit me with a frying pan because it just cannot be time to get up yet. It just can't.
As "revenge"...I re-set my alarm for 10 minutes later to a loud buzzing sound and walk away. Bayou normally gets up a good 45 minutes later than me. That'll show 'em.
After getting mostly ready, and coming in from walking the dogs, I found Bayou in the shower. I rip the shower curtain back and stare at him. His eyes are swollen and I can almost not stifle my laughter for how pathetic he looks.
Bayou: "What's with the look"
Me: "Do you not remember ANYTHING from last night? The night terrors...you telling me I am an awful person for waking you.....you swearing and fighting zombies or whatever?"
Bayou: *Blank Stare*....."No."
Awesome. I got 0% sleep last night and he doesn't remember a thing. Now I can't be mad because it's a losing battle because he can't remember.
Bayou: "If it makes you feel any better...I am EPICALLY hungover and have a ton of shit to do at work today. I am never going out on a weekday night ever again." (That...I can guarantee...is a LIE.)
I laugh. What can I do? Men...I swear. I tell him that since I am pretty sure our kids will have the same nightmares he has on a weekly basis....HE gets to deal with that one. I'm out.
Zombie Princess.
TBag. Out.
