Electrocution: The gift that keeps on giving

The Weed <MimesBeingElectrocuted>

It’s Tuesday and I am grateful I was not pummeled in my sleep last night.

That’s a strange sentiment to have in a mostly healthy relationship, I know. Still, it’s appropriate since one of The Weed’s Christmas gifts arrived yesterday via the snailiest of snail mail.

Although a few days late, the gift did not disappoint. Me, that is. It was a downright ‘annoyance,’ ‘pain in the ass’ (his words not mine) for The Weed, however.

You see, dear reader, I gifted The Weed something I have wanted to for years: The promise of a peaceful night’s sleep.

Or, so I thought.

Because my husband of several decades is what I describe in clinical terms as the ‘Kraken of Snoring,’ I thought science might help his condition.

Seriously, The Weed’s snoring is so loud, I can hear it from other rooms across the house. I have felt the walls shake. And, on one all-too-memorable occasion, I was locked out of our hotel room, pounding on the door, yelling his name and still he did not wake or abate his sonic snoring. I had to go to the hotel lobby and call the room to wake him—after several rings—and make him promise to not fall back asleep before I returned. He fell asleep. Not a great night.

No one wearing this wristband of the damned sleeps soundly. Just ask The Weed.

Back to the Christmas gift.

Turns out the Sleep Connection Anti-Snoring Wristband (A thoughtful gift) with its ‘creatively designed biosensor’ and ‘bionic detection technology’ is more of an industrial-grade electric cattle prod you strap to your wrist—or that of a loved one—to curb snoring.

Instead of the promised ‘gentle bio-electrical pulses’ that are meant to ‘alert your subconscious so you can change your sleeping position,’ this wristband of the damned shocks the snot out of you. Literally. I tried it before turning in last night and was screaming ‘Get it off me! Get it off me!’ while spittle and snot flew.

Nevertheless, The Weed—a man of science—strapped on his new device and promptly fell asleep.

That’s what I thought anyway. Turns out, as I slept, dreaming about being chased by an unseen foe down a narrow, steep staircase, The Weed was enduring a night of unmitigated shock therapy.

Here’s a transcript of our morning debrief:

Me: ‘So, did you wear the wristband through the whole night?’

The Weed: ‘Hell. No. At some point, I just gave up and needed to get some sleep. I took it off.’

Me: ‘Why? Were you getting shocked?’

The Weed: ‘I think it just goes off every now and then. There’s no way I snore that much. It just reacts to any noise. I couldn’t sleep at all.’

Me: ‘Well, the literature says it’s supposed to disturb your subconscious. That didn’t happen?’

The Weed: ‘No! <MimesBeingElectrocuted> Every time I moved, it shocked me. When the blanket moved, it shocked me. When I got up to pee, it shocked me. When I put my feet on the floor, it shocked me. When I flushed the toilet, it shocked me. It shocked me. It shocked me. It shocked me.’

Me: ‘So, you had a restful night. Can you come fix my wireless keyboard?’ (His Christmas gift to me.)

The Weed: ‘Yes, dear.’

There you have it.

This is why as 2020 comes to a close, I am relieved I was not pummeled in my sleep by the incessantly electrocuted man next to me wearing a very thoughtful Christmas gift.