Memories are made of stuff like this, I guess

The Fat Bastard and I have been married for thirteen years, six days and sundry hours. I honestly cannot remember what time of day; couldn't even tell you if it was morning or afternoon.

You can take it as read though that I've known for a long time that he snores. His snores have a particular basso accent that sets panes quivering in their window frames. During the years we occupied the same bed the earplugs were the one thing I absolutely never went to bed without. Other men can have me in nothing but Chanel No 5. (I wish).

After my last post I was pretty much ready to go to bed and put the day behind me. I fiddled around for a bit and then slowly it dawned on me that the background noise had a particularly familiar rhythmic quality to it. I'm on the floor below him and on the other side of the house, in the extension to which sound should not carry efficiently. But I can hear him snoring quite loud and clear.

At first I wasn't certain that it was him snoring. I've not been aware of hearing him from my vantage point before. But then he reached a crescendo and broke off then started again. No doubt about it. That noise is emanating from him. And sometime tonight I'll have to follow him upstairs and try to get some sleep in the room right next door.

Now if only I could remember where I'd put those earplugs.