Hi Nate:

I’m sure you’re very anxious to find out what exactly was making all that racket in our family room.  So here’s what happened:

“Listen closely.”  I said to your Dad.  “Doesn’t that sound familiar?”

Your Dad listened, and shook his head.  “Nope.”

“Really listen.” I urged him.

He closed his eyes, and then opened them.  “I guess it kind of sounds like a muffled fog horn.”

“But don’t you recognize it?”  I pressed.

“No, really.  I got nothing. Do you recognize it?”

I sighed.  “Only because I’ve heard it every night for the past 20 years.”

“How could you have heard it every night for the past 20 years, if I’ve never heard it before.”

“Let me give you a hint: sometimes it wakes you up in the middle of the night.”

Your Dad shook his head. “It is not Nate.  Nate’s at camp.”

Once again, my palm met my forehead in exasperation.  “Seriously?  You don’t recognize your own snore??”

“My snore.”  Your Dad said in disbelief.

“Yes, your snore.” I said.

“That is not my snore.”  Your Dad insisted.  “I do not sound like that.”

“You sound exactly like that.”

“No, I don’t.  I don’t believe you.”

“What exactly do you think your snore sounds like?”  I asked.

“I don’t know but I don’t sound like that.  And anyways,” he said peering around the corner into the family room, “that . .. thing is hideous looking.  Are you suggesting that that resided  in me?”

“I’m suggesting that for some odd reason that we have yet to determine, you have suddenly stopped snoring for the first time in 20 years.  And now there is some strange creature in our family room making the exact same sound as your snore. And because it’s summer and the kids are away, I’m putting money on it that the snore can talk.”

Could the snore talk?  Find out tomorrow.

Love and kisses,

Mom