That's Dedication

I’m always in bed a couple to a few hours ahead of Alan. I’ll wake up to midnight snacks being made in which I swear he uses every pot, pan, blender and noise-making appliance to whip up a simple hot dog. And there will be the occasional political rant as he comes to bed. But some nights Alan takes disturbing my sleep to new levels. The other night he came in and I could have sworn he was a 5-year-old. He was tossing and turning and moving Marti around and giggling and telling her secrets. Then there was a complaint that I had too many pillows, so I threw a pillow at him hoping he would JUST SHUT UP ALREADY.

So I was down a pillow and trying to fall back into a blissful rest, but something was keeping me awake. In my semi-dreaming sleep, I knew something was different. A smell. A weird medicinal Ben-Gay smell. I open my eyes and Alan has his finger as close to my nose as possible, thinking it’s the most hilarious thing ever to wake me up with Ben-Gay. Super pissed at this point, I roll the other direction to get as far from his annoying self as possible.

The next day I’d forgotten about the smelling salts incident. He reminded me of his comedic genius and then said how he needed to put more Ben-Gay on his finger. Now, B-G has its uses. It serves a good purpose for sore muscles. And while Alan has been working out, I was pretty sure he wasn’t doing finger exercises at the gym. And then Alan pretend-strummed a guitar. Ah. Ah-ha. Alan has become a victim of Guitar Hero finger.

He is very dedicated. Look at the focus.



But maybe, just maybe, he should give his poor fingers a break.