It was 3am, and I was looking for Kurt. I was still only half awake, but I got the impression that I had been searching for a while.
Where the heck was he??
By now I was about 3/4 awake, and starting to panic. He wasn't in the bathroom, He wasn't on the balcony, and HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO SAVE HIM FROM A HUSBAND-KILLING-CEREAL-KILLER???
I can't even keep people from peeing in my trash can!
I rushed around calling "Kurt?? Where are you??" at the top of my lungs.
There was no answer.
I stumbled into the bedroom, and grabbed for my phone. That's when I noticed it- the foot sticking out from under the bed.
THE DISMEMBERED FOOT.
No, wait. False alarm. There was a leg attached to it.
I crept around the bed, bracing myself for the giant puddle of blood seeping into the carpet (What? I've seen Law & Order).
But instead I saw this:
It was not cute.
"KURT. GET YOUR BUTT BACK IN BED."
He didn't move.
I kicked him.
"NOW, KURT. GET IN BED NOW."
I stood there shaking from the aftermath of that adrenaline, still kind of worried that he might be dead.
He had better not be dead.
After a few minutes he started moving and mumbling. Then he climbed back into bed, completely oblivious to my fury.
And I was furious. I'm pretty sure he tried to cuddle me, but I just shoved him away.
Looking back, I feel kinda bad for how angry I was. All he had wanted was to roll off the bed and cuddle his pillow in peace.
But at the time, it was all I could do to not kill him myself.
He has to be doing this on purpose.
Husbands are jerks.
This post was inspired by Mama Kat's weekly writing prompts. I mean, it just happened, but who knows when I would have gotten around to writing it if it hadn't been for prompt #3.
I'm linking it to her Writer's Workshop.