Miscommunication

For the last few weeks Carl had been wondering why she went to bed so early.

Did she just want to avoid having sex?

Did she not find him attractive anymore?

“Shit.”

He sighed and stretched, scratching his voluminous belly. Then slowly he looked down. He could not see his toes.

“Fuck.”

He had put on a little weight.

Okay a lot of weight.

But that had never bothered Eileen before. She had always lovingly rubbed his tummy. Sometimes she even said it was her not-so-little good luck charm.

Carl smiled and closed his eyes, wishing she were still awake to praise his warm, hairy stomach.

But nope. Not tonight.

Carl bent over, exposing his great crack to the world and grabbed a pickle out of the fridge.

He munched thoughtfully and made his way up the stairs.

Ah, there was Eileen. His dear. All curled up under the blankets.

Carl loped over and lovingly kissed his wife on the cheek. He crawled in to the cozy bed beside her, throwing a great arm about her middle. With everything adjusted he quickly drifted off to sleep, making empty promises of new diets to any sheep that would listen.

*

With that peaceful drop off soon came a mountainous roar for the rest of the house.

“Shit.”

Eileen’s eyes shot open in a glare that could possibly have killed a small mouse.

This whole week she had been going to bed earlier and earlier in an attempt to fall into a deep enough rest that Carl’s snores could not wake her.

It never worked.

The nearby painting shook as Carl exhaled.

Eileen shoved her husband violently onto his back and scrambled to pretend she was a sleep.

Hup hup – silence.

‘Yes, please,’ prayed Eileen. She screwed up her eyes with the effort of sending this one blessed thought into the universe.

But no, the Universe was not listening.

Carl snored again. A car alarm went off down the street.

Eileen let go of the breath she had been holding in prayer.

“Fuck.”

How was she supposed to sleep?

She could smother him with a pillow…

No as much as the thought appealed to her at the moment, she could not kill her husband.

Eileen sat up and gathered her pillow and blankets about her.

With the next thunderous roar she calmly reached out and caught the nearby paining as it vibrated off its hooks. She set the piece safely on the ground with a sight.

With the painting safe, Eileen stood up, wrapped in her various sleeping accouterments and walked down the stairs, sleepily saving picture after picture.

She settled in on the cold basement couch, threw together her makeshift bed, stuffed in some earplugs and quickly fell asleep.

*

Upstairs Carl roused himself with one great snore. He sleepily rolled to pull his wife close, but closed his arms around nothing but cold air.

Carl opened his eyes and couldn’t help it when a rather large lump formed in his throat.

With a pronounced sniff, he rolled back over and cuddled the cold pillow his wife had left behind.