Sleeping in the Wet Spot

Just above the fish but below the dog.

That’s where I rank. The hierarchy of the Daddy Files household currently goes Will (son), MJ (wife), Bruno (cat), Little One (cat), Haley (dog), Aaron (husband), Red Death (fish). And the word is I barely held onto the second-to-last spot.

After five years of marriage I now have a very clear and thorough breakdown of where I stand in the scheme of things. My lovely wife made my place on the totem pole abundantly clear a few nights ago, when we had this little dust-up just before bed.

I entered the bedroom after a long day’s work at my full-time job, followed by a few hours of writing and editing for my part-time job. I simply wanted to crash because I was exhausted. So I got undressed, went to the bathroom and made my way over to the bed. But when I peeled back the covers I discovered something very strange right in the spot where I sleep.

ME: “MJ, what the hell? Why is there a towel here on my side of the bed? Did Will pee???”

MJ:No. Haley was sitting there for a while and she was chewing on the hot spot on her paw again, so there’s a huge drool spot.”

ME: <picking up the towel> “What the—MJ, this towel is soaked. Not from a drool spot either, it’s just a wet towel.”

MJ: “Yeah, I think that’s the one you showered with earlier.”

ME: “Forgive me for asking such a stupid question, but why on fucking Earth would you try to clean up a huge drool spot from the dog with a wet towel?? Now instead of a doggie drool spot, I have an extra large wet spot that I won’t be able to avoid!”

MJ: “Well then why didn’t you change the sheets yourself?!”

 

Yup, you read that right good readers.

My wife finds a massive puddle of dog drool on my side of the bed. Then, instead of changing the sheets—or at the very least telling me about it—she makes the inexplicable decision to exponentially increase the circumference of said wet spot by placing an already wet and dirty towel on top of it. Next, when I rightfully ask what the hell is going on, it’s my fault for not having telepathically anticipated the dog drool.

And did I mention there were no clean sheets?

The outcome was me sleeping in the drool/wet spot and somehow having to apologize for the privilege. I’m still not sure exactly how that happened (getting people to apologize for things that aren’t their fault is the most impressive woman trick out there), but at least my place as a husband has once again been recorded.

I think that fucking fish was drier than I was.

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