photo by Meme Binge
Nestled peacefully under my comforter, I heard my bedroom door swoosh open with a sense of urgency. A second later, inches from my head, I heard, “Honey!” It was my husband’s aggressive whisper. The kind that’s meant to be in a hushed tone but comes out louder than a normal speaking voice.
I was in that perfectly-aligned-body-parts guaranteed-deep-glorious-sleep position. My limbs were at the melting-into-the-mattress stage. My mind was not far behind my body, already in a half-doze. The timing was crucial. I couldn’t move a muscle, lest I wake myself up. That included my mouth. Responding to my husband would be limited. A grunt was all I could offer.
He took the grunt as a sign to converse. “There’s a parental lock on one of the TV channels. What’s that about? When did we have a parental lock? What’s the code?” continue reading