Night Terrorism

I have become convinced that my seemingly loving and caring wife is a night terrorist. It is the only reasonable explanation I can come up with to explain certain phenomena I experience upon waking in the morning in this Floridian paradise.

I suspect this beautiful, yet evil woman sneaks a mickey into my into my evening wine glass that knocks me out completely at night; at least until my bladder breaks through this comatose stage I’m in. This allows my fiendish spouse the beat me with boards with nails in them, cudgels, and old cricket bats, which would explain the amount of pain and stiffness I experience upon waking. I also believe this wicked woman pours a bit of spackle or light concrete down my gullet which would help explain my sluggish bowel. Furthermore this demoness damsel pokes her fingers and thumbs in my eyes which would explain why my eyes tear constantly upon waking rendering me essentially blind for a couple of hours.

Now I notice she is sneaky about when she employs these dastardly deeds; they seem to be connected with my golf game. Since I play every day the symptoms are there daily, yet they vary. On league day when I play 18 holes rather than my usual nine, she is particular active in her malevolent machinations, so I am especially sore on these particular days, though it generally doesn’t show up until later in the day. Recently we had a tournament here. The first day she must have left me entirely alone as I spectacularly played and ended up in first place, 5 under par (handicap adjusted) for the day and led the tournament. Then, she went to work and the second day I tumbled from my high level of excellent play and dropped to third in the standings. On the finally day, she must have worked all night long beating, pounding and thrashing my body during the nocturnal time of terror and I completely fell apart finishing the tournament in 11^th place.

It is with great sadness I write these words of condemnation of my life partner who appears to kind and sweet to those around her and to me; but it must be a ruse. How else can I explain these physical traumas I seem to suffer for no other explicable reason? The fact of age and the hundreds of pills I take per day and their side affects I believe are irrelevant.

But I love darling Doreen so it will be my lot to put up with this constant physical abuse; though I am thinking about installing a secret night camera to catch her in action. Do you think it is worth it?

Hurting Hugh