I’m obsessed with sleep, as longtime readers can testify. I follow a strict bedtime routine every night that usually has me unconscious by 9 p.m. and have set up my room with all the necessary nocturnal accoutrements, including a sound machine, black-out curtains and a fabulous weighted-blanket with Cool Max technology. Truth: I take my ZZZs seriously. Woe to anyone who interferes with my 8-to-10 hours of restful oblivion.
So, what to do when that person is my partner? About once every couple of months, my slumbering husband Doo will emit a powerful stink, almost always after a day of rigorous exercise, garlic-infused dining and over-consumption of either wine or rum. The fumes coming from his pores are noxious enough to wake me with a terrible headache. I’m not exaggerating – Doo is literally poisoning me with these impressive odiferous events.
Opening the windows does nothing, nor does breathing through my mouth. I even ordered N95 masks pre-COVID-19 in the hopes that like when demolishing a building filled with asbestos, they could help me survive a toxic Doo. No dice. I usually resort to either kicking Doo out or moving to another room myself.
But friends, I think I may have finally found a solution to my decade-long sleep/marital dilemma – Vick’s VapoRub, copiously smeared across my upper lip. Brilliant, right? Basically, I’m mimicking coroners when they examine decomposing bodies (or at least how “Silence of the Lambs” portrayed it). And last night, it worked! I was so focused on the menthol that I couldn’t smell Doo. Huzzah!
Desperate times called for desperate measures, people. And now I won’t have to woe my husband anymore.