Sep 19 2005
Breathe-Rite (or don’t breathe at all)
I snore.
Let’s just get that out on the table and acknowledge it. Denial is futile.
Especially if you’re married to an evil geek who, 13 years ago, brought his evil little Macintosh into the bedroom while you were sleeping and used its evil multimedia capabilities to RECORD said snoring so you couldn’t deny it any longer.
Let me go off on a tangent for a moment if I may – it was nineteen-fucking-ninety-two. Bill Gates was still picking his nose and trying to launch the first successful version of MS Windows. Us non-Mac people, we knew nothing of multimedia or multi-tasking or any of that business. Us non-Mac people would sit down at our husbands’ Macintoshes completely perplexed because we couldn’t figure out how to drop it to a command prompt! (yes, sonny, this granny-aged wench was a command-line guru while you were still pooing in your britches).
So, if our husbands would, say, record our SNORING on their evil Macs and sample it and loop it, well, what could we do? We were too stupid to know how to find and/or delete the damn file! Hell, it took us two hours to realize that pretty little Apple up in the top, left corner was actually more than a cute decoration and was the key to opening this new fangled thing called a MENU. Go figure.
So, where was I? Yes, yes – I’ve been a snorer since 1992. Whatever. Y’all can just get over it, right? I mean, the only one it really affects is my husband and he’s already stuck with me.
Until….
I think I’ve mentioned that I travel frequently on business, right? Oh, the roar of the jet engines is like a lullaby to me and when that plane takes off and my seat tilts back as the jet points its nose upward, well, it’s like being rocked gently to sleep by my mommy. I love sleeping on planes. Love it.
But a couple months ago? I became THAT passenger. The snorer. I actually WOKE MYSELF UP with my own snoring. O shock, o dread. I was mortified. MOR-TEE-FIED.
Ever since then, I sit bolt upright and will not allow myself to succumb to the engine’s lullaby. Ever since then, I fight the urge to slumber in the skies. I’ve almost gone so far as to borrow the Bugs Bunny trick of toothpicks holding my eyes open. But TODAY? Today I’m on a plane for eight freaking hours going overseas and DAMMIT I WILL SLEEP.
In order to remove the anxiety and perhaps quell the snoring, I’ve made a purchase of Breathe-Right strips. You’d think I was a fourteen year old girl buying tampons or something. I hid them in the cart under the anti-fungal cream and the Depends (OK, I didn’t really buy Depends, but stick with me – I’m 40 and it’s only a matter of time before I’m writing an entry on my first purchase of Depends).
I decided to test drive the Breathe-Right strips at home ahead of my trip. Here’s the deal: when I’m SLEEPING, how in the fuck am I supposed to hear if I’m snoring or not? All I know is that when one wears Breathe-Right strips, one is evidently destined to dream about wearing Breathe-Right strips. Plus my husband complimented me on having a knack for finding new and unique ways to make myself unattractive in order to get out of sex (evidently, he doesn’t dig doing the deed with a chick wearing a Breathe-Right strip – who knew?).
I’m moments from walking onto that plane. I was up past midnight last night and had to awaken in time for the taxi pick-up at 5AM. I WILL sleep on this plane.
And what if they don’t work? Perhaps my genius-geek husband can teach the Breath-Right people how to use their fucking la-di-da Apple computers to design a feedback program that allows the stupid little nose strip to deliver a little shocking ZING! every time the snoring begins.
Either that, or this ‘getting rich and famous’ plan had better pan out quickly so I can buy my own freaking jet. I heard that’s why Travolta bought a jet, too. Yeah, you heard it here first – Kelly Preston SNORES!
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