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I shuffled to my wife's side of the bed, felt around for her tissue box, knocked over her phone, found the box, bumped a bottle of water, grabbed a tissue, blew my nose, tripped over the wastebasket, and wandered back to my end of the world.
Terry's eyes flickered.
If I'd known she was going to wake up anyway, I just would have reached over her.
She yawned. "Do you need a box of tissues for your nightstand?"
Being a typical man, I answered with typical male decisiveness: "I guess."
"They're in the closet…"
"I know where they're at," I said, pulling up the covers.
"So why didn't you get a box to keep on your side of the bed?"
I nestled into the pillow and tried to fall back asleep.
"Burton?"
That's the thing about wives -- they're so insensitive to a guy's need for sleep.
I sighed. "Cellophane."
She sat up. "Excuse me?"
It didn't take being wide awake to figure out she was going to keep pestering me with questions that made no sense. I might as well answer:
"There's a three-pack of tissue boxes on the shelf in the closet. They're still wrapped in cellophane. So I got a tissue from your box instead. Satisfied?"
She wasn't.
"You mean it was less work for you to blunder around the bedroom like a blind elephant than to tear the cellophane on the box of tissues you already held in your hands?"
Exactly. Now that we'd settled the issue, I pulled the covers over my head and tried to go back to sleep.
Compounding her inconsiderations, Terry turned on her lamp, slid out of bed, opened the closet, dropped a box of tissues on my pillow, crawled back into bed and turned out the light. It ate up 10 or 12 seconds of valuable sleep time.
I tried to show my gratitude: "Aren't you going to open it for me?"
She didn't. But she kept me awake for a few more minutes of indignities.
I reached for a couple tissues to stuff in my ears. The tissue box fell to the floor. I dangled my arm and swished around for it. The thwacking sounds interrupted Terry's tirade.
"Are those water bottles I hear? How many are under the bed now? When you knock a bottle of water off the nightstand, you really can get on your knees and pick it up."
"I really can't," I said. "Last time I tried, the chiropractor had to make a house call to get me up."
"He did not."
"Do you want to tell the story?" I hoped she did so I could go back to sleep.
"So it makes sense to you just to leave everything that rolled under the bed there?"
The woman just wasn't thinking. She needed sleep, but neither one of us would get any if I had to keep explaining the obvious: "That's what grandkids are for. I send the boy under the bed to fetch every time he comes over."
"And that pile of socks and T-shirts you leave on the floor? Honest, if you put your dirty clothes in the laundry basket, they will get washed and returned clean to the dresser drawers."
Wives can be so obtuse at 2 a.m. "I didn't want the crashes to waken you when I knocked things off the night table in the dark. The stack of clothes acts as a muffler. You're welcome."
Terry whimpered and rolled over. "Why do I try?"
I wondered the same thing. I had no answer.
Next time, I'll wipe my nose on the back side of the pillowcase. It'll be easier for both us.
— Send sympathies to Terry in care of burtseyeview@tribtoday.com or on the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.