Get Up Get Up Get Up

I'mupI'mupI'mup!


I'd rather be sleeping in a warm bed with the covers pulled up around my shoulders, basset at my feet, taking up most of the bed and a husband teetering on the edge because the basset loves him best and spends the whole night rolling empatically against his feet. "Moove over! snort, sigh" she thinks.

H. to me, "Could you stop wiggling!!"
Me to him, "No I can't actually...you knew that when you first married me 34 1/2 years ago.

Never have been able to, never will be able to lie still."
H. to me, "sssiiighhhhh".

.
We're mismatched.

.
He sleeps hot. I sleep cold, so I'm constantly pushing my way nearer and he's constantly pushing his way further away to the edge of the bed.

Of course the basset doesn't help.

Oh! Maybe the dog is being pushed over by me, pushing closer to her warm little curled up body.

Don't tell H.

The other night, when the basset was on heavy drugs because she'd had her toenails cut that day and she'd stayed snoring on her island in the living room all night, poor H. teetered on the edge of the bed on his own volition.

He's used to it now and doesn't wake up anymore when his pillow slips onto the night table, knocking his glasses onto the floor. And in the mornings, the basset climbs the hillock that is his hip, peers into his face and sneezes a big basset sneeze.

H. says "Ewwwwwwwwww! Groooooooossssssss!"

I say, "She adores you and must greet you first thing!"

Poor guy.

Me 'n Basset just love him!