Sep 23, 2013

That one night Husband saved me from the Lord of the Flies - for reals.

I think I should start this story with a few tiny disclaimers. One, this story has nothing to do with rotting pig flesh. (yay!) - Also, despite taking honors English through high school, I never actually finished this book. Why? Because the "evils of this world" being played out through the example of stranded boys did not appeal to me. (One + Also awesome. Who's counting, right?)

Now my story, while having nothing to do with pigs - has a whole lot to do with flies.

As most of you know, a month ago or so I spent a long weekend in Montana with Husband. One of those days we spent up at her cabin. We had so much fun setting up the hammock, forgetting to nap in it. We took a several-hour hike back unknown trails in search of a rumored waterfall. We took out the row boat for a little spin. (Husband rowed, while I helped by singing "Just around the river bend", at each bend.) It was an awesome day.

We ended the night with a little more camp food, and s'mores. Grandma went to bed early, but we wanted to enjoy the fresh night air and the warmth on our faces. We stood by the fire until it burned away into tiny red embers, that slowly faded into the night.

Husband and I crawled up the tiny staircase into the attic/bedroom of the cabin - the glow of our cell phones lighting the way. Quietly we traded our muddy jeans and slightly damp socks for sweats and dryer socks. Pillows were located, covers were adjusted, and we somehow got Husband's 6"2 body covered in blankets. A kiss goodnight followed by absolute silence. I then realized the flaw in my routine, I had forgotten to open the window. *(I have this weird thing about fresh air and outside noises when I sleep, okay!?) 

Sweet, half asleep husband offered to get the window, but I insisted and crawled along the attic. Feeling proud that I had arrived so quiet and effectively, I reached for the window and swung it open towards me. Inside the frame lay what my sleepy, disgusted, mind could only imagine were 200 dead flies. Laying on top of each other in a terrible holocaust-like matter. You could not see the frame. There were just scraggly pointy black limbs, and those buggy dome eyes in such great numbers it was just too much to bear.

But it was late and I was tired. Sure, when I closed my eyes the image was burned into my head. I told myself I was being silly, and to go to sleep. They were just dead flies. I was just starting to drift off when the Lord himself entered. He had to be about 2 inches in diameter - at least what I could see from the shadows the moon was casting. As he flew around the room, he made the noise of a tiny helicopter. He began to do that annoying thing flies do that I lovingly like to call dive-bombing-the-crap-out-of-your-face. And zooming around my ears. Of course, then my mind circled around to the 200 dead fly-zombie bodies ready to come for me. 

How did husband save the day? The man rolled over, pulled by head onto his chest, and covered my exposed ear with his large hand. (6"2, remember?) All I could hear was the dull static noise that comes when you plug your ears. And shamelessly, I slept like a baby.

I guess this story could also be titled: How husband scored a full night of cuddling.
*(as opposed to me getting hot, and rolling away for fresh air.)

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