Many nights (and by nights, I mean 3:00 A.M.s) I crawl into bed to find Farmer H's arm snaking under my pillow stack. He's not going to get away with that unnoticed. Even though I use three pillows, I'm like a princess feeling a pea.
Uh huh. Even though I'm pretty much a REAL PRINCESS, Farmer H's arm is certainly no pea. He's got arms like Popeye. It's mainly his left arm that's so offensive. It rustles under my bottom pillow, fingers making a skritchy noise against the sheet and pillowcase. It slithers and worms its way to and fro. My pillow undulates like I'm in the middle of an 8.4 mattressquake.
Then everything is still. Or so I think. Just when I figure all the aftershocks are done, my head bobs like a red-and-white fishing float on the surface of a perch pond.
Sometimes, I wait until just after a particularly annoying bout of side whip-lash, and reach my right hand back over my shoulder and GRAB Farmer H's arm in a death grip. Like pinning a snake to the ground with a forked stick. This wakes him up like an impaired Ambien user (or so I've read about Tiger Woods), and Farmer H sputters and asks what I'm doing. That's when I say
GET YOUR ARM OUT FROM UNDER MY PILLOW--I'M SICK OF IT!
And he moves his arm and turns over. The next day, if I revisit the issue in an attempt to stymie such proclivities in the future, Farmer H says I'm crazy. And making it up.
Yeah. We'll see how that theory holds water when he wakes up with one arm.