Boogie Nights
Boogie Nights ... (Based upon real events)
The house never did like it when we argued. It happened once in a great while. This night, it happened with enough notice it stopped my wife in mid-argue; which is really difficult for any entity human or otherwise.
Our bedroom is typical in design, with that '60s era design: square, bed under one window, across from the bathroom door. Our bed rests under the main window with the a-typical night stands on either side: his and hers. In this particular argument, which neither my wife or me recall what it was about, we were stationed at the a-typical "arguing positions": either side of the bed. The physical distance between my wife and I was separated by only the bed, but the mental distance was much greater based upon the language we were using in our "discussion".
During some point in the human life, each person has "that" feeling. We all know it, it's that feeling that makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck. The goose bumps rapidly scroll down your arms and make what hair there is, stand at attention; yeah, THAT feeling. This night would be one of THOSE moments. As a quick backfill, our family is not the only thing possessing the premises. We are not alone in the home. They are here too. Heck, at this point, you can fill in just about whatever horror movie cliché you can think of and it has probably happened in this home. The exception would be the bleeding walls ... and we moved out before that particular instance arrived.
Every decent husband, dare I say every real man, has one of those little temperature meters stashed somewhere in their home. Albeit the garage, the kitchen, their "man cave", but it is there somewhere. I know many of my male friends are nodding right now while reading this section. Well, mine sits on my side of my night stand on my side of the bed. The sensor is inside for home temperature and the wire goes outside for, obvious, outdoor temperature. This detail will be pertinent in a moment.
So we are arguing. I, as usual, am listening to the wife state her side of whatever the "discussion" was about and patiently (not) waiting my turn for rebuttal, thus starting a new argument. In mid sentence, my wife stops talking and just stares as me for a second. It only takes that second for me understand why she stopped. I can see the breath from her lips as she exhales slowly. With typical male reaction to this situation and not my wife, I quickly look at the temperature device that I have sitting on the night stand: Outdoor temperature is 87F. Indoor temperature is 72F, 65F, 60F, 45F, 28F ...
At this moment, I can see my breath, feel the hairs on my neck and arms standing on end, my head is spinning and I can't get warm enough. The outdoor temperature is still 87F. I look back up at my wife, who calmly and almost without further hesitation, states "we're done discussing this topic".
We both slept on the couch that night.
The house never did like it when we argued. It happened once in a great while. This night, it happened with enough notice it stopped my wife in mid-argue; which is really difficult for any entity human or otherwise.
Our bedroom is typical in design, with that '60s era design: square, bed under one window, across from the bathroom door. Our bed rests under the main window with the a-typical night stands on either side: his and hers. In this particular argument, which neither my wife or me recall what it was about, we were stationed at the a-typical "arguing positions": either side of the bed. The physical distance between my wife and I was separated by only the bed, but the mental distance was much greater based upon the language we were using in our "discussion".
During some point in the human life, each person has "that" feeling. We all know it, it's that feeling that makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck. The goose bumps rapidly scroll down your arms and make what hair there is, stand at attention; yeah, THAT feeling. This night would be one of THOSE moments. As a quick backfill, our family is not the only thing possessing the premises. We are not alone in the home. They are here too. Heck, at this point, you can fill in just about whatever horror movie cliché you can think of and it has probably happened in this home. The exception would be the bleeding walls ... and we moved out before that particular instance arrived.
Every decent husband, dare I say every real man, has one of those little temperature meters stashed somewhere in their home. Albeit the garage, the kitchen, their "man cave", but it is there somewhere. I know many of my male friends are nodding right now while reading this section. Well, mine sits on my side of my night stand on my side of the bed. The sensor is inside for home temperature and the wire goes outside for, obvious, outdoor temperature. This detail will be pertinent in a moment.
So we are arguing. I, as usual, am listening to the wife state her side of whatever the "discussion" was about and patiently (not) waiting my turn for rebuttal, thus starting a new argument. In mid sentence, my wife stops talking and just stares as me for a second. It only takes that second for me understand why she stopped. I can see the breath from her lips as she exhales slowly. With typical male reaction to this situation and not my wife, I quickly look at the temperature device that I have sitting on the night stand: Outdoor temperature is 87F. Indoor temperature is 72F, 65F, 60F, 45F, 28F ...
At this moment, I can see my breath, feel the hairs on my neck and arms standing on end, my head is spinning and I can't get warm enough. The outdoor temperature is still 87F. I look back up at my wife, who calmly and almost without further hesitation, states "we're done discussing this topic".
We both slept on the couch that night.
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