NOTE: This was published in the AF Citizen today. It's been up here before, but I thought I'd edit and share it again. Voilá, the Werehusband story!
My husband totally turned into a werewolf once. You think I’m making this up? Listen. I don’t do that. It's completely true. And here's how it went down. Picture it:
We have moved to where the huz is attending graduate school in Indiana–a place of great beauty and weird experiences–and it is autumn in about our third year. I was in the habit of falling asleep on his shoulder at night. There was this little crook, just perfect for my head. And the front of my feet folded exactly into the sides of his.
*sigh*
Where was I? Oh yes. Feet. And werewolves. And husbands.
So anyway, this one night I fall asleep on my hunka-hunka-burnin'-love's shoulder with my feet tucked in, per usual. And apparently sometime after midnight I roll over and pinch off the man's armal artery (“armal” meaning “of the arm”. I did not just make that up) thereby stopping the flow of blood and numbing it completely.
So, I’m snoozing away with, I kid you not, the light from a full moon shafting in through my partially opened blinds, completely unaware that huz is coming to a semi-conscious state due to being entirely unable to feel his arm. It is a shocking thing. And not only that, he can hear someone next to him breathing in a suspicious manner.
“AHA!” thinks Graduate-School-Boy, in a rational and analytical fashion. “Someone is sitting on my arm. Someone intent, I am sure, on attacking us and stealing my, um, student ID. Or the very cool argyle socks on the floor. Or possibly my wife’s eye drops which are sitting on the dresser. But they shall not get away with it, no they shall not! For I shall get them! I shall use the element of surprise and shock them into inactivity, at which time I will disable them.” Yes. This is exactly what he is thinking.
Now, I am peacefully dreaming away on my soon to be attacker’s arm. Dreaming, probably, of flowers. But more likely those little dark chocolate-drenched mint-sticks you can get at twee boutiques. I am dreaming happily when an unearthly, ungodly howl pierces the air. I blearily open my eyes, barely able to see in the oddly lit room. Then I slide my orbs of sight to the right.
SOMETHING IS SITTING UP IN BED HOWLING AT THE MOON! The head is thrown back, the adam’s apple distended. It kind of looks like . . . IT IS! My husband is turning into A WEREWOLF!
Holy Snot! I have to do something. But before I can so much as raise a hand, the evil creature is upon me. Werehusband has cleverly flipped himself over and is using his muscular and spectacularly ripped bulk to pin me to the bed (he’s turning into a werewolf, remember. Those things use steroids). Wrapping his vile claws around my neck he begins to choke. Choke! Choke! Choke! We have a waterbed, so I am sloshing like crazy.
I come to and realize the little whack-job is dreaming, and he is about to throttle the daylights out of me. So I gasp, as he is wagging my head up and down: “Stop! Stop! Stop! *gasp* It’s Janiel! It’s Janiel! It’s Janiel! *gasp*”
After like an hour, Huz’s vacant eyes flood with intelligence again. He sees me. Stares. Says “Omigosh.” And collapses on top of me, wheezing and insuflating (which is similar to gasping, but I’ve used gasping too many times). I can feel the dude’s heart pounding into my chest. It’s going like 90.
We lay there for ages, neither of us having the strength to move. Then my husband manages to slide away, explaining that he thought I was an intruder attacking us, but he had a plan to dispatch me, so I didn’t need to worry. Well. That’s . . . good . . .
So, we laugh the next day. Shakily. Tell a few people, most of whom think it is hilarious. But I will tell you, it is a while before I stick my head in that stupid crook of hubby-dubby’s shoulder again. And I find out that you can sleep very comfortably in the space between a waterbed mattress and the frame. Faaaaarr away from your attack . . . er . . . husband.
Leave a Reply