Two in the bed, and the little one said…

I’m alright now, thanks for asking. A bit of a headache still, but I’m beginning to behave like my normal, eccentric self, so I’m doing okay.

I’m lucky I’m alright, that’s for sure, after being involved in a ‘midnight mishap’ with the dog. The dog is also lucky he is alright. He’s been giving me a wide berth this week.

The ‘midnight mishap’ might never have happened if my husband hadn’t had more than his standard quota of ‘beer and skittles,’ stripped off his clothes, and headed to the back room for a ‘quick nap’ before dinner. I found him an hour later flopped unconscious in a tangled heap of pillows, prone and snoring loudly. I poked him and he mumbled something about ‘checking the bridge’ before rolling over and burying his head under a pillow.

I left him to it and went and had something to eat.

I checked him a while later and he’d de-tangled himself and was now hanging over the side of the bed. I decided that I would spend the evening with him here, instead of the king-size bed in the next room, as he wasn’t going anywhere.

We all piled into the room, the dogs and I, and I made myself comfortable, which was somewhat difficult considering that my husband now lay spread-eagled over three-quarters of the queen-sized surface and I was relegated to a quarter in the corner.

The dogs all made themselves comfortable, as they do. Two squeezed onto the remaining bed space and another disappeared onto the floor into the darkness.

I eventually drifted off into a uncomfortable haziness. My husband moved a little and I quickly shuffled into the space before he rolled again. I relaxed and nodded off.

I must have been asleep for about 2 hours when my husband moved again and pulled at the bedsheets. I pulled back and rolled over into the missing extra king-sized-bit that was supposed to be there, and found myself plummeting to the floor. I landed with a bang onto the wall, the floor, and the missing dog.

We both screamed in the darkness and, in an effort to get off the dog, I smashed my head into the wall.

My husband, to his credit, was instantly awake, running around to the light switch and to my side of the bed.

He leaned down and picked up the screaming, hyperventilating furball from beneath me and placed him gently on the bed, crooning softly to him and checking his little body for damage. I stared up at his naked butt as he fussed over the dog.

‘Is he alright?’

‘Yeh, I think he’s alright. Just got a fright, that’s all…yeh, didn’t you…’

”That’s good. You might like to help me up then. I think I’ve twisted my neck.’ I put my hand on my head. There was a bump there too, and I felt a bit dizzy.

But at least the dog was okay.

My husband came good and fussed over me the next day, as I could barely move from the bed. He’s put his recent rescue attempt down to his inebriated state. He says that he didn’t want to pick me up first in case we all fell into a big heap on the floor, causing further damage.

It’s a good story, and I love my dog, so he wins.

My mother thinks the former version is much better. She’s getting good mileage out of it at the local senior citizens club down the road.

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