The dream, her immediate reaction, and her reaction sixteen and a half hours later.

The dream.

I cannot remember the dream in it’s entirety, however the main thrust is that I was dying. Not dying as being diagnosed with something dreadful, and spending ones time sorting affairs and saying goodbye.  Dying as in, lying down, struggling to breathe, and trying very hard not to die. As you do.  I expect.

This though (I sadly add) was not the upsetting part. The upsetting part was that as I struggled to remain alive, bravely staving off death, my wife was irritated with me.  Irritated that the whole process was taking far too long. Again the details are sketchy, but I seem to recall her running back and forth between the couch where I lay, you know, dying and the kitchen, where she was cooking the kid’s tea, audibly sighing and muttering under her breath

‘Just get on with it for Christ’s sake!’.

 I have tried to convince myself that her reference to the Almighty is a good sign, a saving grace if you will, but I have failed.  No longer can I attempt to assuage myself with this foolish notion. The cut and thrust is (and I’m sure most dream dictionaries will concur) my wife wants me dead.

Her immediate reaction.

You know when you wake-up suddenly and realise that your nightmare was just that, a nightmare ….and you get that wave of relief washing over you….and you snuggle up close to the one you love….the one that you have devoted your life to….the one who you go to work everyday to support…the one who promised to love you and care for you? I did that. That’s what you do isn’t it? I snuggled up. Text book reaction from me then.

You know when the one you love, in your hour of need, strokes your hair and kisses away your fears? When she holds you tight and no words are spoken because no words need to be spoken? When just her loving caress is enough to soothe your ills. Yeah that didn’t happen. This is what happened.

I approached my wife (as in paragraph one) all expectant and in need (of paragraph two) and for a moment was appeased. My wife drew me close to her breast and lovingly kissed my forehead.  For a moment all was well. All was well that is until her sleepy brain processed that the baby was in fact on the other side of the bed, and that I in fact was not the baby. After performing this spatial calculation, she immediately elbowed me in the eye-socket and hurled herself over to face the other way.

Hurl may seem an exaggerated term, but I swear, for a moment the woman was airborne. Not one to give up, I opted for the spurned-but-needy spoon and cautiously moved in.  Desperate to just feel her warmth. Alas my comfort again was short lived, as I was lovingly arse-pushed in one swift, judo-style movement all the way from her side of the bed to mine.

Where she gathered the strength of ten men from I do not know? And what she anchored her feet to, to give her enough leverage to propel me with such velocity is beyond me? Irrespective, I had just enough time to gather my bearings before the duvet lashed my naked form as it was furiously whipped away, leaving me cold, nude and alone.

Her reaction sixteen and a half hours later.

It had been a long, hard day at work and I had not been able to shake the dream. Moreover the dream had been the catalyst for some dark thoughts. The end of my life.  The end of my wife’s life. The children’s future. As I stood in the kitchen watching my wife cook the tea, with the kids playing/brawling at my feet this exchange took place….

Me: I’ve been thinking about dying today
Her: Oh. Okay
(not quite the response I was hoping for but I soldiered on)
Me: I’ve decided that (dramatic pause) I think it’s best if I die first.
Her: Oh. Okay
(I stared at her in silence and agog for a few minutes at this point, but she didn’t look up)
Me: Don’t you want to know why?
Her: What?
Me: Don’t you want to know why I think it’s best if I die first?
Her: Well it just makes sense doesn’t it?
Me: WHAT? What do you mean it ‘just makes sense?’
Her: Well what were you going to say?
Me: Never mind what I was going to say, I what to know what you were going to say?
Her: Well, you said you thought it was for the best?
Me: Never mind what I said, why do you want me dead?!
Her: It varies
Me: I’m being serious!
Her: So am I

At this point I left the kitchen in a flourish and stormed upstairs.  In retrospect, this may not have being one of my finer moments.  Rarely am I enraged when someone wholeheartedly agrees with me, in fact in most instances I insist upon it. However not in this one.  It is indeed true that I would be devastated  if my wife shuffled off before me. The children undoubtedly would be better served by a stoical widow as opposed to a widower that just can’t shake the loss of the love of his life. However, could we at least please engage in the charade that Daddy is not so obviously and easily expendable?!

Since this incident my wife has found me in various places around the house and garden pretending to be dead. Laying prostrate, open mouthed and motionless.  My best acting skills employed, still don’t seem to be able to muster a tear or even mild concern from wifey.  She just steps over me and calls me a ****.

Often I have to wait for quite a long time until she walks past my death location for the day. It can be exhausting playing dead in solitude not daring to move just in case she’s about to come around the corner.  Eventually she realises I’m not there and comes looking.  My record for being dead and undiscovered is 17 mins thus far.

The ******cat never fails to find me.

©2012 Man in his pyjamas. All rights reserved.


  1. I think it's something they teach girls in Secondary school. When we were all in the Science lab looking at cross sections of ovaries and sheathed bananas, you were all in the gym perfecting the dump, poke and roll manoeuvre. That and the 'flick him on the misters he'll think it's hilarious' joke.

  2. Oh dear. This made me laugh! If I have a bad dream, I do cuddle up to my husband. Often, if he tries to cuddle up to me, I confess that in my sleepy state I might elbow him away…

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