I always find it thrilling to awaken my husband in the middle of the night to my blood-curdling screams. (No, not blood racing & thrilling screams, the bone chilling scary ones.) We’re talking about the kind of scream that would put any classic horror film to shame. The kind that makes him want to grab the nearest weapon to protect his family and home. Oh yes, my friend, that is always big fun.

Not.

Then trying to explain that I must’ve had a bad dream and that as I was awakening, that honestly, the curtains really did look like someone standing over me that wanted to brutally attack and maim me. Really.

It took me about 30 minutes my breathing to get back to normal. Another 20 for my heart to settle down. And then about 45 more minutes of peeking out from under the covers to ensure that the curtains were in fact merely curtains and not some evil force hovering over me about to escort me to some horrid death. (Oh, as for him, he was back asleep within about 3 minutes. Some protector!) I finally fell asleep about 2 inches from my bedmate with the comforter over at least half of my face… just in case. I mean, you can’t be too careful. If the curtains were going to brutally attack someone at night, it certainly wasn’t going to be me!

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