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Dear Reader,
I'd just gotten home from New York City, put on my pajamas, hit the "play" button on the recorder, (my husband always records a good show for me when I'm gone), crawled into bed, fluffed the pillows, and opened the bag of potato chips that I'd grabbed from the kitchen.
Crunch, crunch. They were good going down, but all night long I was brushing potato chip pieces out of my bed. They make a lousy sleeping partner.
I used to accuse my husband of being a slob when he ate snacks in bed. Peanuts or chips, it was never a mystery for long, because his late night delight would soon be all over the front of his shirt--crumbs from top to bottom.
"No problem," he'd tell me, "I'll get rid of the crumbs when I'm done."
But his idea of cleaning up was to stand up beside the bed and brush the peanut shells onto the rug below. Clearly we had different housekeeping standards, but we finally reached an agreement. Now whenever he needs to "brush off," he pulls the bottom of his t-shirt up, cradles the crumbs and heads to the kitchen. I've never had the courage to ask him what he does with the crumbs when he gets there, and after last night, I don't think I will.
Okay I admit it. I was tired, all snuggled in bed, and the rug below was an easy target. It's too bad I didn't get a chance to get rid of the evidence before my husband woke up.
"Suzanne, did I just step on a potato chip?"
Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.
Suzanne Beecher
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www.DearReader.com
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