"Hey, You Awake?" Three little words guaranteed to keep me that way. Efforts to hone the perfect husband have failed; he obviously slept through the pillow-talk lecture. My nightly ritual for serenity and slumber includes good thoughts, well-wishes, spritzes of lavender linen spray, and if there's a bonus round of 'oops where did my panties go?' so much the better. The Man-O-My-Dreams, however, escalates the trauma and stress of his day until he erupts (one second before I hit REM) with OUTLANDISH proclamations: "We need to move to Idaho and become farmers."
Pretending I have a crop of potatoes already growing in my ears does not work. While I yearn for meaningful talks about his hopes and dreams, he needs a hard reset of his yak button.