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A restful (not) night in my own guest room

July 27, 2017

They say you should sleep in your own guest room to see how restful it is. So, last night I did (due to a broken air conditioner, not my marriage), and I’m exhausted. Between the pecks on the window, storm, scurrying in the ceiling and growls, I didn’t get much sleep.

First rain pounded the window well cover just over my head while thunder crashed. I flashbacked (I just created a verb) to two summers ago: the window wells filled and forced waterfalls through the tiny cracks under the windows, which soaked the beds and the carpet far into the basement. Was this happening again?

I leaped out of bed, ran upstairs for a flashlight, raced back down and examined the window wells. Our landscaping worked. No lakes in the window wells. No impending waterfalls. No need to dry out mattresses by slicing the mattresses and inserting the leaf blower.

The storm subsided. I lay back down, comforted that our guests would not know this waterfalls history, would not have PTSD symptoms and might be asleep by now instead of wondering where the leaf blower is these days.

Then the knocking on the windows began. Tap. Tap. Probably a bug, I thought. Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap. Tap. I imagined a bird or a gnome crouched in the window well. I leaped out of bed, stood on the bed and shined the flashlight in the window wells again. Nothing.

I lay back down. What was it, I wondered? A frog? A poltergeist? A ghost? When would it strike again?

I must have eventually fallen asleep because I startled awake to a low growl.

Growl. GROWL.

My limbic system kicked in. Fight or flight? Fight! I leaped out of bed, grabbed the flashlight, ready to kill.

Feet hit the floor above me. Oh, the growl was from Edmund Dog. The feet belonged to him and Husband. Yes. Husband had chosen to sleep in the hot main bedroom instead of the cooler, more restful basement guest room. Husband had also chosen to let the beast sleep with him, which violates both our prenuptial pets contract and our dog acquisition contract. Husband had chosen to believe Edmund when he said he’d already gone potty. Husband had not actually witnessed him pottying, which violates our ongoing dog dealings contract. Or Edmund had played the game where he gets out of sight, counts to ten and then saunters back inside, pretending he’s pottied.

I heard Man and Beast’s footsteps across the wooden floors. I wondered what else a guest can hear. Conversations? Um. Noises from the upstairs bathroom? Whispers?

I lay back down. I told myself to get back to sleep.

In that haze between sleep and wakefulness, there was scampering above my head. This was not a man or canine.

These noises did not bother me. Much. Well, just a little. I knew who they belonged to, more or less. They belonged to whoever visits the basement ceiling but never shows himself. Two pest control guys failed to find the entrance or figure out the mystery. Chipmunk? Small squirrel? Apparently not a skunk.

Later today, I assured myself, I will call a third pest control company. And check for frogs and things in the window well.

I did not look at the clock. I stood on the bed and knocked on the ceiling.

I lay back down. I went back to sleep. Sort of.

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4 Comments leave one →
  1. July 27, 2017 7:34 pm

    Good job! Very entertaining.

    Sent from my iPhone

    >

  2. Shari Albers permalink
    July 28, 2017 3:46 am

    Julie, this is really funny. Loved reading your writing again. I haven’t slept in my guest room, and now I will—before my guest arrives in 2 weeks.

    Shari

    On Thu, Jul 27, 2017 at 8:15 PM, Julie M. Evans wrote:

    > Julie M. Evans posted: ” They say you should sleep in your own guest room > to see how restful it is. So, last night I did (due to a broken air > conditioner, not my marriage), and I’m exhausted. Between the pecks on the > window, storm, scurrying in the ceiling and growls,” >

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