Without getting too intimate, I was having trouble going to bed with my husband. As in getting a good night’s sleep. FOR YEARS I had worn earplugs designed for the more delicate shape of a woman’s ear. I know this because they are pink. Twelve pairs for $4.79. NOW BRIAN can honk, wheeze or whistle for all I care. Equipped with my own set of custom-made earplugs I am sleeping like a baby.
He’s not your classic snorer. No inhalations with the force to pull in Jonah or exhalations that uproot villages. Nor does he wheeze. Or shudder. Or Grunt.
Rather, he merely forgets himself and lets his mouth drop open ever so slightly — I’ve watched the process because Brian can fall asleep in 30 seconds flat — upon which a variety of noises emit.
I say he forgets himself because he, too, has been troubled by how disruptive this practice is to my sleep.
Our usual routine was I would “gently” make him aware of the noise and he would sleep fitfully in an effort to ensure I got a good night’s sleep. So we both would wake up exhausted.
It got to the point he considered a machine that helps people sleep at night.
I protested.
If he were hooked up to such a machine how could he roll onto his side when I so instructed. Besides, he slept fine. I was the one with the problem.
I began wearing these earplugs years ago as a young mother because I’d wake up at every squeak and creak and quickly learned that a child’s cry could pierce the soft foam with ease.
Every night I’d twist and squish the earplugs in, thinking it was the best I could do. But the earplugs with their 32-decibel barrier were no match to Brian’s nightly sonata.
Sometimes, it’s at the moment of desperation that creative thinking begins.
A woodworker, Brian wears tailor-made earplugs when operating saws and the like.
He had them custom made at a hearing aid store where they inject a cool-feeling foam into the outer ear which quickly solidifies into a mold. From that is constructed a red, rubbery plug that fits as snugly as a glove.