“He never knew when it was coming.”
I learned last week that there is one thing about me my husband would change if he could.
Not the size of my breasts.
Not my inability to control myself around a bag of corn chips.
Not the way I start reading his library books before he is finished with them, or try to kiss him when I am still wet from the shower, or my lax attitude towards filling the car’s gas tank. He wouldn’t make me younger, older, or smarter, or funnier — which is saying something because I never get his jokes and can’t remember punch lines.
He would, though, put me in a coma, open up my cranium, and reach deep into my brain to find the switch that is responsible for my sneeze so he could disarm it.
My sneeze, he says, shrieks through him like a three-second hurricane, leaves him shuddering, makes him wonder about me in ways that, if I let myself think about it, might find disturbing.
So I don’t.
I do, however, make an effort now. I not only cover, I run from the room. I try to keep the sneeze all in my nose so when it detonates the only sound he hears is my whimpering as my sinuses implode.
This is a public service message. The marriage you save may be your own.
At least I do not sound like a chicken. Here is a chicken sneezing:
By the way, did you know that…
Sneezing does NOT stop your heart (although it may bring the hearts of those nearby to a screeching halt)?
You can sneeze at 100 miles per hour?
People can’t sneeze in their sleep but some sneeze when they pluck their eyebrows?
For these and other fun facts about the big Ah-Choo click here.
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