The Soundtrack of My Life
Most nights, my bedroom transforms into a concert hall of absolute cacophony. Honestly, I think a collective nod of solidarity is happening among wives and partners everywhere right now. You know exactly what I’m talking about. It always starts gently enough. A soft, rhythmic rumble, almost endearing like the gentle purring of a kitten curled up in your lap. But the overture is short-lived. Slowly, the performance shifts in tone and register until the purr degrades into a splutter: deep, thunderous, and reverberating through the floorboards. It’s the kind of snoring that makes you genuinely wonder if his soul is experiencing a profound existential crisis. And then, just as suddenly as it peaked... silence. A heavy, complete silence that lingers just long enough for you to wonder if this is exactly how the opening monologue of a true-crime documentary begins. You hold your breath, staring at the ceiling, waiting…hoping! ...and then... SNORRRRRRRRRRRRT! The engine restarts ...