For decades, I’ve held a kind of moral advantage in my relationship with Other. He snored. I didn’t. It wasn’t pretty some nights. I shushed, poked, even kicked him. In the mornings, I was sometimes resentful and he was penitent.
Lately, though, there’s been a leveling out of the playing field. For a variety of reasons, I now have to sleep on my back for at least a portion of the night. And guess what: I snore too then.
Other has been remarkably good-humored about it. He says things like, “Boy, you really knocked the dust out of the rafters last night!” “Why didn’t you wake me up or roll me over?” I ask. “I knew you were tired,” he says.
It’s sort of infuriating, because I’ve had years of sleep loss from his snoring, and his sleep disruption is only recent. But I have to acknowledge that he now holds the high ground.