LC's Take: The snorer

Posted Wednesday, August 24, 2011 in Features

LC's Take: The snorer

by LC Van Savage

It was a marriage begat by angels. Amazingly compatible, the besotted couple married at a time when it was unthinkable for unmarrieds to live together, and so they didn't know each other biblically until their wedding night. (Cohabiting without benefit of marriage license back in those innocent times was considered a sin, and most unthinkable of all, something the neighbors might find out about.) He was an athletic coach, she a teacher.

The wedding was glorious, and when it was over, they drove off in a hail of rice with old shoes and tin cans clattering behind their shiny new car.

Their wedding night was unforgettable, a dream come true for both of them, tender and sweet. They fell asleep in each other's arms with gentle smiles upon their glowing faces.    

When she heard the gunfire, she shot up in bed as if jerked by wires, and she screamed. Frantic, she looked wildly about the room, sweat spurting from every part of her.

She reached for her sleeping groom and shook him. "Oh, awaken," she cried. "Someone is shooting at us. I heard the explosion of the guns! Help! Wake up!" 

 And then another barrage reverberated about the room. This time, she leapt from the bed, tearing off the blanket, wrapping it around her shaking body. She shrieked in terror. With eyes a-bulged, she saw that her new husband continued to sleep blissfully through the hullabaloo. How could he? She leaned toward him and jumped when another blast detonated, this one like a locomotive roaring toward her. 

With a gasp, she discovered the shattering explosions were emanating from her beloved's very mouth! The new young bride sat down hard, realizing to her horror that she'd married, oh dreaded day, a snorer! The sounds coming from him were like nothing she'd ever imagined could come from one of her own species: piercing whistles, booms, wet growls, rumbling, bellowed snortings, enraged belches, the scream of overheated buzz-saws. She stared down at him, and then she began to weep.

 They were young and in love and knew they'd work it out. But married life was not turning out the way it had been promised her in those romance magazines she'd been hoarding since she was 14.

Time passed. The idea of spontaneously jumping into bed together, at least at night when sleep and annihilating nasal emanations would assuredly follow, began to lose its appeal. The couple had to begin studying ways to combat the husband's outrageous snoring problem, and so they purchased two "white noise" machines and placed them on each side of the bride's head on the bed. They then dialed them to the "Niagara Falls Up Close" setting.

No good. Her beloved's thunderous snores soared easily over the noise of the pounding falls. The bride then constructed a gigantic fortress of pillows around her head, but still the rhythmic, nasal expulsions cut through them, like the sounds of active artillery. She wept, wrapped a down comforter around her head, but still the cacophony got through. 

"Go have your uvula looked at," she implored him. He did and returned home, triumphantly announcing that the doctor had never seen such a perfect uvula, as uvulas go. He would perform no operations on any man, he said, who owned such a magnificent, flawless uvula.

The groom rammed gadgets up his nostrils, and tape across the bridge of his nose. He suffered through acupuncture, behavior modification, drugs and hypnotism, but his somnolent trumpetings only increased in volume as the months passed.

"Oh, sweet Judas," croaked a houseguest one morning. "I've never in my entire 74 years heard a sound like that. I thought something large was dying out in the driveway."

"I've got it!" the bride cried one day, and she jumped into her car and drove to the nearest toy store, where she purchased an enormous yellow water pistol. That night she went to bed clutching it, a smile upon her exhausted face.

She couldn't wait for the first deafening eruption, and when it inevitably came, she aimed that pistol directly at her beloved's open mouth and squeezed off a rocket-like trajectory of cold water. It shot down his throat.

Nothing. At the next cacophony, she took aim again, and this stream flew straight up his nose. Nothing. Next cannonade, she aimed for his closed eyes. Zip.

"Why doesn't he notice?" she thought. Annoyed, she decided on real action. When each eruption thunder-clapped from his face, she blasted him. Snore-shoot. Snore-shoot. It went on for hours. No reaction.

"My pillow is soaking wet," he said the next morning, perplexed. "Did some rain leak in or something?" His wife glared at him and rolled in the covers.

And when she inherited a lot of money, the solution to their marital woes came clear. They purchased a huge home, and had triple insulation poured into every wall. The bride selected a bedroom acres away from her husband's, and finally, eight hours of blissful, uninterrupted sleep engulfed her, improving her mood, outlook and general demeanor. Life became agreeable.

The widely separated bedrooms did little to prevent the devoted couple from enjoying the blissful priorities of married life; they birthed and raised six strong children, none of whom, she was relieved to note, had inherited their father's penchant for sonic fulmination. 

See LC on Saturday mornings on MPBN's “incredibleMAINE.”

         lcvansavage@newmainetimes.org


 

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