Seriously, You Can't Be Serious

My husband has sleep apnea. He stops breathing frequently while he sleeps. He now has a sleep machine because I insisted he go to the doctor because I was afraid it would be the death of him. Mostly because I would spend my nights slapping, elbowing, and punching him in order to make him breath again. The sleep machine is interesting, it shoots out a constant stream of oxygen through these tubes into a little mask that goes over his nose all the way down over his mouth. My BFF and I call it the Darth Vader mask, though really, because of all the tubes I would say it's more of the Tie Fighter mask. You know, the bad guys in Star Wars that flew around the little ships with octagonal wings and had these masks and all the tubes on them...oh forget it. Anyway, it's definitely like Darth in the fact that there is the noise of the oxygen going through it, which really isn't loud, and then when he talks, it's very muffled, very, well, James Earl Jones. Anyhu, it's all very necessary, very life-saving, very un-sexy.

I think my husband needs to be very clear on a couple of things when he is wearing the mask.

Number one, I have no illicit fantasties of Darth Vader so don't start rubbing my leg while wearing it, I just can't take you seriously. Don't even get me started on the fact that you look like and ICU patient and all those tubes are hooked to a machine on the bedside table which doesn't exactly make you mobile. Secondly, if you turn to face me wearing the machine, expect me to turn as well, with my back to you. Most obvious reason is, again, because I can't take you seriously. Beyond that though, the amazing, wonderful, life-saving machine blows freezing cold air all over my face. Now, I could be completely alone in this, but I certainly don't have any lewd fantasies of Darth Vader, while having freezing cold air blowing in my face with such force that it gags me and I literally can't take a single breath. That's. Not. Hot. At all.