After a particularly long, harrowing day at work, my husband and I fell into bed, exhausted. As we turned to each other in the dark, we were each struck by the thought that something was terribly wrong with the other.
There was a smell. A very bad smell.
OK, there had been plenty of garlic in the pasta, but this odor went way beyond garlic breath.
First we thought the other had suddenly developed a gross deficiency in his/her personal hygiene. Then we thought the other must have a terrible infection somewhere awful.
I sat up and turned on the light.
"Bill," I said.
"Patience!" he said.
"I don't have any infected, unhygienic anything," we both said.
I jumped out of bed and peeled back the sheets. Nothing. I lifted the pillows, and
there was our little gift: a putrefied slimy long-dead baby bird.
Maria had snuck it in from the yard and buried it under the pillow. Just for us!
After we changed the sheets and took a shower just for good measure, Bill and I laughed ourselves to sleep.
Years later, we still check under the pillows before getting in bed.
What would you have done?
3 hours ago