In the early hours of this morning, I woke Andrew (Mr Chic) by repeatedly prodding him in the back.
“I’ve sorted the ice-cream dishes,” I informed him.
“Ice-cream dishes? What?” Andrew looked at me with bleary, sleep deprived eyes.
“Yes, the dishes. I’ve sorted them for you,” I said again.
“What do you mean you’ve ‘sorted dishes’, though,” asked Andrew, clearly completely confused. “Have you tided the cupboards. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
“I’ve sorted them!” I repeated, getting more and more irritated by the second. “You were just asking me about them!”
“Er, no I wasn’t honey.”
“Bloody Hell!” I said, now as angry as hell. “I’m too tired to explain it now, I’ll tell you in the morning. But the ice-cream dishes are sorted, OK!”
I then turned my back on him and resumed snoring. Well, according to Andrew I resumed snoring. As I was talking in my sleep and have no memory of the conversation and he related this story to me, I think it’s his way of seeking revenge for being prodded awake at 3am.
Yep, I’ve been talking in my sleep, and it’s driving me nuts!
I’ve always been a bit of a sleep talker, but I think the busyness of life lately has ranked it up a notch. Last week I expressed my delight at the puppy that was scampering over my bed trying to lick my face. Yeah, there was no puppy, and if it had tried to lick my face I would have freaked – ew, just ew! The week before I apparently rambled on for over an hour about the attributes of dental floss. No wonder Andrew is looking a bit knackered lately 😳
I have absolutely no idea how to put an end to my mutterings. A gag has jokingly been suggested, at least I hope he was joking!
Have any of you had experience of sleep talking? Do you have any suggestions as to how I stop talking in my sleep?
In other news.
We are still looking for a new kitchen. I’m not sure if we’ve been living under a rock, but the price for a basic kitchen seems astronomical. We’re talking a very BASIC kitchen here people, nothing fancy, nothing all singing or all dancing, just a simple kitchen. Is it me or does £10,000 seem excessive?
And it’s not that we’re being tight exactly. This is a very small house, and I really can’t see us being here forever. It seems daft to spend a whole lot of dosh on something we’re going to sell.
There isn’t exactly a rush, so we’ll probably wait for the sales to hit in January. In the meantime we are becoming adept at the ‘small kitchen dance’ if you know what I mean? One of us tries to open the dishwasher, the other dances around the dishwasher door whilst simultaneously chopping veg. It’s really is an art form. I’m surprised that Strictly hasn’t included it in their dance offs.
Right, I’m off to really sort some dishes – I have a huge pile of washing up to squeeze into a very small dishwasher 😉