I guess we will just stay clear of fish markets.

As you might have gathered from my cookie post, Josh has some pretty odd sleeping habits. For instance, he is a sleep-eater. Often we wake up in the morning to find an open bag of Doritos in the middle of the coffee table, and Josh will shake his head and say, “Well, I guess I ate some chips last night.”

Around the time of our first Christmas as a married couple, someone gave me a tin of fudge. The next day Josh kept bugging me to make some brownies or a cake or something, anything with chocolate (and I thought the girls were supposed to have the chocolate cravings?)

I wasn’t in the mood to bake. Okay, let’s be serious here, I am never in the mood to bake. Me + Baking = dangerous. I once fell asleep while baking, only to wake with a start and run into the kitchen hollering “CHESS SQUARES!”

It was too late, our house smelled like burnt sugar and cream cheese for a week, and I am pretty sure we had to throw out the pan. Annnnyway, let’s shift the attention back to Josh now, shall we? In lieu of the indoor bonfire I was sure to create upon attempting baked goods, I suggested that he calm his inner chocoholic with the gifted fudge.

Josh: What fudge?
Me: You know, the fudge. The tin of fudge I brought home last night.
Josh: Um.
Me: …
Josh: Well, I saw an empty tin on the counter this morning–
Me: No, it’s not empty, there are at least 30 pieces of fudge in there.
Josh: It was definitely em– oh.
Me: Wait.
Josh: …
Me: Are you telling me that you ate an ENTIRE tin of fudge in your sleep last night?
Josh: …
Me: Wow, how are you not dead?

I am okay with these weird sleeping habits, even though finding half-eaten containers of junk food scattered around your house is a little off-putting. I don’t even really mind when he asks me if I’m “depreciating” in his sleep after watching a real estate show, or telling me “where the trail ends” during a particularly vivid dream after a day of riding dirt bikes.

But I have to admit, his latest nocturnal escapade really threw me for a loop.

I was enjoying a nice, relaxing sleep, when all the sudden Josh sat straight up in bed, looked around, and BOLTED out of the bedroom like something was chasing him.

I lay there dazed for a moment, wondering if I should get up and help him–maybe he thought he heard a burglar or something? But um, I am kind of ashamed to admit this, but it would take a lot more than that to get me out of my comfy bed. I was channeling my inner Jim Gaffigan:

You ever been asleep at night, and you’re awakened by a noise, and you’re convinced there someone breaking into your house and they’re gonna kill ya? But instead of getting up, you just go back to bed.

“Oh what is that a murderer? I gotta get some sleep, can’t kill me if I’m asleep!”

That’d be embarrassing… you get to heaven: “Hey, how’d you die?”

“Oh me? I was too lazy to get out of bed. Yeah, I heard the guy in the kitchen and I thought I had an hour.”

So I just stayed in bed and kept very still and listened for signs of danger. All I really heard was Josh opening and closing the refrigerator, so I figured we were safe. Eventually he came back to bed.

Me: Okay, WHAT. was that?
Josh: There was a flying fish chasing me.
Me: …
Josh: (shrug)
Me: So I guess if we ever get attacked by flying fish, I’m on my own?
Josh: I guess so.