The Real Thing

So, I guess the honeymoon is over. Sure it's been almost two years, and sure, there's the unabashed farting, peeing with the bathroom door open, popping each other's back zits. But last night it really sank in.

Lydia is not feeling well and needed to go outside to use the little doggy's room every couple of hours. Trying to share a bed with an eighty pound pit bull with diarrhea is less than restful. Less than comfortable. And then there was a thunderstorm that woke everyone up. So at four in the morning after being up most of the night, trying to find a suitable position to lie in, tangled in sheets and straddling a farting dog, I fell asleep on my back.

Now, I know that when I sleep on my back I tend to snore. And I've always told Eric that if I'm snoring he should just nudge me and tell me roll over. But he always insists that it doesn't bother him. He's even gone so far as to call it cute. Which, of course, is the kind of lie you tell someone you love. Like 'Here, eat the last cookie, I want you to have it.' or 'No, I don't find Adrien Brody sexy at all.'

So, there I am, finally falling asleep after lying awake for an hour listening to the storm, expecting Lucas to creep up the stairs again at any moment. I'm drifting off, and BAM! Eric punches me in the boob. Hard.

And do I screech? Yelp? Curse? No. I apologize and roll over untangling my legs from Lydia's and scrunching my knees up to my chin because there's nowhere else to put them. And I drift back to sleep knowing that I've found true love. Because only someone who truly loved me, and knew that I loved him could punch me in the boob in my sleep trusting that I would understand and not knee him in the sack in revenge.