Night before last, my imaginary husband, Colin Firth, and I were walking, hand in hand, in a lovely English garden. There was a light breeze and the sun dappled through the cherry blossoms. Colin was telling me how he couldn't have won all of those awards for The King's Speech without my love and support. He was showering me with compliments, kisses and expensive jewelry, when the light breeze turned decidedly fetid. I felt several huge drops of rain and looked wonderingly at the sky. It felt as though a storm was coming but there wasn't a cloud in sight. What was going on?
Suddenly a clap of thunder ...Waaahhhh Shooo! I awoke with a start. Colin and the cherry blossoms were gone in a 'pooff' as were the breeze and the sun. Wait a minute...since when does thunder go 'Waaaaaahhh Shoooo'!? I opened my bleary eyes and peered into the darkness of my bedroom. First the clock...4:45am. Then, once I focused... directly up the double barrel of a dog nose. I began processing as fast as my recently slumbering brain would allow...the fetid breeze, the 'thunder'...the rain...GROSS! I had just been the recipient of a Bentley sneeze at the all too close range of about 6 inches. As soon as he perceived that I was lucid, he curled up and went back to sleep.
This creeped me out on many levels....the main one, of course, was biological...but the more I thought about it, the more psychological it became. Why was Ben sitting on the bed, a la Vulture-Snoopy-On-His-Doghouse, peering at me so closely? Did he do this often? Should I sleep with one eye open? (My mother insists that after the things I put him through, I should thank my lucky stars that he doesn't have opposable thumbs or he's be pressing a pillow over my face. Not helpful, Mum.)
I decided to investigate the next night. Several times I sat bolt upright and threw the light on with a snap, only to discover...