By Bettyann Moore
Libby read the same paragraph three times before she realized that George’s snoring was interfering with her concentration. She knew, though, that trying to slip out of bed and move into the living room would be impossible. He was a notoriously light sleeper. He could sleep anywhere, it was true, but at the smallest sound, he’d jolt awake, have a devil of a time falling back to sleep and be crabby all day. It wasn’t worth it.
He was drooling again. A long string of saliva hung from the corner of his mouth and pooled on the pillow. Libby sighed, quietly. George had ruined numerous pillows with his drooling until she doubled up on the pillow protectors, and added two old pillowcases beneath the good one on top. It added to her wash load – she bleached them like crazy, but they were a lot easier to clean than a pillow.