The next night, as had become her habit, LF rose from the bed at precisely 4 am, waking me in the process and poodled off to the loo. That afternoon, I’d purchased six-dozen rolls of toilet paper, half of which I’d stacked along one wall of the micro-loo, the other half of which I’d placed in the bathtub next to the loo in the main bathroom.
So, I sat in bed and waited for LF’s return, mentally just daring her to come back with a set of wet curtains and drape them across my thigh.
After ten minutes there was still no sign of her…
Now feeling like a tinkle myself, I slid out of bed and headed off down the hallway to the micro-loo, which I found to be unoccupied. On completion of my urinal duties, I decided to visit the main bathroom and see whether LF was alright. Amazingly, she wasn’t in there either; the rest of the apartment appeared to be in darkness too.
Puzzled, I went into the lounge room; more darkness.
It was then I noticed a faint glow coming from the kitchen…
Figuring LF was making herself a snack, I crossed the lounge floor and entered the kitchen, where to my utter disbelief I found my wife having a pee in the fridge.
Now, I’m well aware of the joke with the similar theme, however this was NO JOKE !!! There before me was the love of my life, stark naked, semi-squatting, her lovely bum thrust through the wide-open fridge door…taking a piss on the vegetable draws.
‘What the fuck are you doing, darling ??’ I asked…more than a little shocked.
‘What does it look like ??’ she replied, completely unfazed.
‘It looks like you’re pissing in the fridge,’ I continued, trying to remain calm.
‘There’s no toilet paper again,’ she informed me, glassy-eyed, unmoved.
‘I see. I’ll just go and get some then.’
‘Thanks…and can you please close the door.’
‘What door…there is no door on the kitchen, darling.’
‘Well just don’t close it or the light will go off.’
‘OK, I’ll just get you that toilet paper now.’
At this point three things became clear:
1. My wife was a sleep-walker.
2. The slightly discoloured liquid I had been removing from the drip-tray under the vegetable drawers with a wettex for the past two weeks…was not quite as harmless as I’d previously thought.
3. I was not going to make myself a salad sandwich.
There is no moral to this story; there is certainly no happy ending to it either. Throughout the remainder of our marriage LF continued to walk in her sleep and piss in our fridge.
Ultimately, it was she who left me, which gives you some insight into what kind of special cunt I must be.
I’ve always wanted to get this off my chest; if only to provide an answer to that age-old question, ‘Fingers…why is there toilet paper next to the milk on your fridge door’…