Swing Time

I had been working until around 11 pm last night on my assignment. This had been an accident sort of caused by my husband, whom I married so I would have someone to blame for everything.

My husband was due to have today off but then been asked to work, which meant that I assumed he was going to come in and pretty much head straight to bed as his ‘weekend’ had destroyed. Just as he was winding down, he had to start gearing up again, like a plane coming into land, realising the runway had been moved and lurching up again.

Even though he knew he had to get to bed, I guess a small part of his brain resisted the enforced bedtime and he hung around much later than usual. Not even putting on a Sandra Bullock movie seemed to change his mind about moving from the living room to the bedroom – although it almost did mine. I like Sandra Bullock, but was not enjoying this particular film (The Proposal) largely becuse I was trying to get started on my assignment and was being distracted by the awful plinky-plonky piano music, like a cat tiptoeing across the keys, which is meant to tell the audience something funny is happening.

The result was that it was gone 9.30 pm when he finally left the area and I snapped the TV off to get stuck in. Why anyone would think writing about Donald Trump so close to bedtime is a good idea, I do not know, but the deadline for the assignment is looming and I had to risk it.

I had not actually planned to write about the US election, just Brexit to get me started, but as I bashed away on the keys, I found his surprise result looming up like a malignant orange spectre. By the time I decided that I had done enough for one session it was gone 11 pm and the table was covered with highlighted sections of printed text.

If I thought the late night would guarantee me a good sleep – despite the subject matter, I reckoned without Archie, who decided that a quick trip to the pleasure dome was just what he needed sometime time later.

I woke up as I heard him start to slide his belly back and forth over the bedroom carpet. Normally I can sleep through this disturbance, it is amplified noise that keeps me awake, but the reverse is true for my husband.

I looked at the clock and hoped that Archie would stop before he woke him up.

Archie did not stop, and as the sliding sped up he started moaning softly to himself. It was 3.30 am.

Then the hissed words came, ‘Archie! Cut that out.’ My husband was awake, but Archie was already too far gone and being transported to a place only he understands. I don’t know what the lady dogs look like there, but from the sound of it he was enjoying the view.

My husband got out of bed and the next thing there was a roar of protest from Lucy as Archie was thrown back onto the bed and landed on her.

Maybe there wold be peace now, I hoped, but it was not to be. The covers were thrown back and at 3.40 am my husband decided to give up on what remained of his night’s sleep.

‘It is too early!’ I protested.

‘It is not use,’ he said, ‘I am awake now.’

I knew there was not use in trying to persuade him otherwise and so rolled over to try and grab the other half of my night’s sleep at least. As my husband left the room there was a gentle rumbling sound from the bottom of the bed.

Archie was snoring.

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