Romance In The Air
Anyone who regularly reads this column knows that I love my wife implicitly. She’s the only one I know who would put up with me and my antics. That’s a rare kind of love, as sometimes she has an idiot for a husband. I had mentioned a few weeks ago where my wife had hurt her back, either from working out or cleaning out our 14-year-old daughter’s closet.
This resulted in the use of a lot of Ibuprofen and mentholated muscle rub, Bengay. Now I don’t know if you know what Bengay smells like, but it has a distinct odor, which, for some reason, reminds me of a nursing home or a locker room. Up to now, my exposure to it was minimal, but in an effort to soothe her poor aching back, my wife would rub copious amounts of it on herself just prior to us going to bed.
The smell didn’t seem to bother her, probably because the pain relief benefit outweighed the olfactory assault. Then again, she’s not the one who has to sleep next to her. She would go to bed early and surf QVC on her iPad. I’d be watching the living room TV with my eyes closed and at about midnight, drag myself to bed. I’m usually so tired, I wouldn’t wake up until the alarm rang.
This time, however, I climbed into bed and my wife snuggled up next to me. That was nice except for the fact that my nostrils were infused with a full dose of Bengay vapor. Suddenly I had visions of elderly people in pajamas walking around a sports locker room with discarded sweaty uniforms strewn about the place. Not the most optimal experience by which to inspire sleep or anything else.
I tried breathing through my mouth, but then felt like I could taste the medicated odor. I turned the TV on, as a distraction might help me fall asleep. That did the trick as a TV is my equivalent of a sleeping pill. At around 3 a.m. I awoke to an assault of hot breath on my face. It wasn’t my wife, it was dog breath. Our dog Buddy was literally sleeping on my head.
The next day, a co-worker looked at me and said I looked really tired. I replied, “Bengay and dog breath – don’t ask!”