MAOUYO: A night’s tale

I sleep with my mouth open. It’s a congestion thing. You probably understand if you have moderately bad allergies or chronic sinus problems, or if you’ve had a cold. So even if you’re only an occasional offender, I’m assuming you get it. It’s not an awful thing, really. Consider this: I’d be snoring and really annoying someone if I wasn’t making such a careful effort to not breathe through the perpetually clogged passageways that are my nostrils. ?

But it’s not that great. While I’ve never signed up for RoomRaiders – I? know you’ve watched at least one episode, so don’t pretend that you’re above MTV – I? do have this recurring nightmare where some marginally attractive girl bursts into my room with a black light, points it at my pillow, and shrieks in horror. Look, I’m not going to change my pillowcases every night because I drool. If you’re horrified, consider it another effort to ‘go green,’ one roughly as legitimate as Boston University’s new printing policy. ?

That all being said, there are days (read: today) that I wake to find out that my mouth has been busier in my sleep than expected or desired. It’s not an immediate realization, but more a process of empirical validation. While still curled up in that wonderful place in bed whose official title I imagine to be ‘The Perfect Pocket of Warmth,’ I start wondering why my mouth is dryer than normal. Then, I reach out of my cherubim-like state to feel for the wetness. Not the, ‘I slobber a little in my sleep’ wetness, but the ‘I either made out pretty hard with my pillow or invited a bloodhound to sleep over and she was polite and left before I woke up’ wetness.?

This, unsurprisingly, is an awful feeling. Absolutely terrible. It is now impossible to fall back asleep. Why not just flip your pillow, you ask? Because not only do I still have to deal with my Sahara Desert mouth, but with the emotional angst that goes along with making out with your pillow. Remember that kid in seventh grade with arm-hickies that he gave himself (or her ‘- herself ‘- but I have yet to meet the girl in middle school with the emotional skill-set that can deal with the rest of her pubescent problems and still worry about hickies). Making out with your pillow is about that pathetic, but much less humiliating.?

Also, you also have to spend the next few minutes trying to figure out what you were dreaming about that caused such salacious salivating. What happened? Was it the vixen down the hall? Penelope Cruz on my doorstep in the pouring rain? Or was it something as innocent ‘- and lame ‘- as a warm flaky apple tart fresh from the oven? Some might find this process of thought and discovery exciting, or at least humorous, but I’m chronically unable to remember my dreams. I can remember one success, the details of which I’ll save for another day.?

So there I am: awake, thirsty, embarrassed and frustrated. A perfect morning in the making. Now what? I get up, drink some coffee, shower, change my pillowcases and go about my day. What else am I supposed to do? OD on Zyrtec and Nasonex? Get those strange nasal strips to help me breathe? Or, I could just let it ruin my day.?

You see, we all have our soggy make-out pillows ‘- those private things in our lives that drive us crazy. And it’s not about pet peeves. Pet peeves are things other people do that irk you to no end: not using coasters, moving the showerhead, not washing their own dishes. Soggy pillows are your own problem, as are all those little actions that we can’t avoid doing. Not actual afflictions, like obsessive-compulsive disorder, but things like talking in your sleep or the occasional hiccup, usually at the most random and inopportune time.?

Sure, you could spend time and money and frustration trying to stop yourself. But why? Don’t you have anything better to worry about? And isn’t there something a little funny, a little perfect about your own little tics? ?

In Good Will Hunting, the character played by Robin Williams has a deceased wife that had this idiosyncrasy where she would – how should I say this – pass gas in her sleep. Now even though we are led to believe that she had no idea she did this, the example holds because Robin Williams loved these little traits that separated his wife from anyone else. So what am I really getting at? I guess I’m saying that if you can accept and love your soggy pillows, maybe someone else can too. And hey, it’s at least good for a laugh.