Last night I couldn’t sleep. I rustled around, turning this way, then that way, then turning to my back, staring at the ceiling. I turned to look at what light was shining through our curtain.
Suddenly Sean asked, “Are your eyes open?”
“Just close them and breath, don’t think about trying to sleep.”
He didn’t sound annoyed although it was pretty obvious that my tossing and turning was keeping him awake.
So I started thinking about things other than sleeping, which was probably not a good idea.
“Sean.” I poke him in the back. “Sean.”
“Hmph?” He turns over.
“Let’s go camping again this summer.”
A few minutes pass
“Sean?” I shake his shoulder. “Sean.”
“Let’s not going camping ever again.”
“I read a story once about a woman who was camping with her friend, and some crazy guy with an ax came and chopped them up.”
Now interested Sean: “Did they live?”
“Yeah, but their body parts were barely hanging on.”
“Well, if an ax murderer came, I would (insert gun terms that mean “shoot the guy”).”
“But would you wake up if someone broke in with an ax?”
Sean: “Probably not.” He turns over.
A few seconds later,
Sean: “Do you want a gun on your side of the bed?”
“What if you come home late once and I shoot you?”
“I’ll call you to let you know I’m on my way home.”
A few minutes of silence.
“Sean.” I flip over in bed. “Sean.”
“If someone throws a hatchet at me, just shoot them and call the police. Don’t take it out of me, or I’ll bleed out.”