Pet Me

Pet Me: As Performed for the Comedy Cetral Show Sit n' Spin created by Jill Soloway and Maggie Rowe at the Hudson Theatre in Los Angeles

I know what my wife wants. She wants to be petted. “Pet me. Pet me, pet me to sleep,” she asks. “I can’t sleep.” I open up my right arm as she lifts her pillow up and onto my chest. My arm runs under her pillow bending up at my elbow, then over with my hand to gently pet her forehead. I know how she likes it, because she has told me. “No not like that, not the eyebrows,” she says. “No that’s too fast, this isn’t a race. Soft, don’t rub my skin off. That’s it, that’s right, nice and soft right on my forehead, yes, soft strokes up toward the hair.” My hand strokes and pets her soft skin as quiet hits and she lies there looking foreword to the sleep coming her way.

Does petting work? Yes, and I have found that it actually does feel good on the three occasions she has petted me. Once when I was sick, once when I was trying to nap on the couch, and once when, well, I just give it to her that it has happened one other time. Actually, I don’t know why I don’t get petted more, except that maybe it’s like Valentine’s Day when she gets gifts and dinners and I get her saying, “It’s a girl’s holiday.” Sometimes, I’ll lay next to her, place her hand on my head and move it up and down myself, as if she was one of those wooden back scratchers. When I do, wow, her cool fingers brushing my forehead puts me into a kind of trance. A happy trance where tranquil surrounds my head and all is right and, yes I think I could fall asleep. So I can understand why she wants it, and I don’t mind. I am happy to do it when I am awake and feeling loving, but really I’ve found it to be just a horrible trap.

See, in one scenario, I softly pet her when she is tired, over and over. My arm and hand petting fifty, sixty, seventy times in a row, quietly getting burnt out when all of a sudden I hear loud breathing. Is she asleep, I wonder? That sounds like asleep. So I gently and carefully slow my pettings down until I am just barely touching her head, then I delicately lift up my hand and wait. Is she asleep? She is still breathing hard and hasn’t said anything. But my arm is trapped under her and my hand is frozen in a type of, well, “curling back toward me, suspended in mid air,” position. Not comfortable right? No, not at all and even worse. I know that as soon as I try to just let my arm fall to the bed, which I do as quietly as possible without making any squuking, rubbing sounds like a pillow can make, as soon as it hits the bed, her head will move and “mmmmhhhmmmmmm?” There it was. She said it. “Mmmmmhhmmmm?” Like a whining puppy.

So I put my hand back to work petting her forehead until I hear the breathing start up again, then I slowly stop. With my arm frozen, straight up in the air, trying not to move, I start to think. What can I do? How can I let her sleep and rescue my arm? I think, I’ll just let my arm hang there like a tree until I fall asleep and then I won’t hear the, “mmmmmhhhmmmmm?” and it won’t matter, but I don’t fall asleep at all. Just my arm falls asleep and it hurts as it turns numb. I twist it to wake it up and her head turns and, “mmmmmhhmmmm?” I pet her again and while I send her to dreamtime, I strategize about the next pet-stop. I try to scoot my arm out from underneath the pillow while I am petting her so it will be easy to pull away when she falls asleep. She breathes hard and I slowly stop and as I carefully pull my hand away from the wall, “mmmmmmhmmmmm?” I say, “Christie I can’t pet you anymore, you keep falling asleep, and…” “No I don’t,” she says. “Yes you did,” I say. “I have petted you three different times and you keep falling asleep.” “John, I haven’t fallen asleep,” she barks. “Christie you’re snoring,” I reply. “How can you not be asleep?” She doesn’t answer, then, “mm…” “Honey my arm is going to fall off. I can’t pet you anymore, please get off me!”

I feel bad. I want so bad to fall asleep next to her in some sweet, “movie bed”, laying position, all spooned and smiling, but let’s face it, that’s for the movies. It’s hot, and my arm, I wish I could take it off and throw it on the floor next to my shirt, only to put it back on when I wake up. It’s always in the way. Her hair is tickling and poking my face as I cuddle on her. Then she’ll say, “Get your arm off me.” “What does it weigh? Is it a gorilla arm?” Apparently, all my body parts weigh the same as a gorilla, because they all almost kill her. Oh, except my head. “John, get your head off me,” she’ll say. “What is it a bowling ball head?” So I lay Egyptian style, arms crossed, looking straight up, as if in a coffin. She lies next to me and we try not to touch.

And the other petting situation gone bad is worse than the first. Petting her over and over, stroke, stroke, stroke and sweetly, nicely, quietly heavy breaths are heard as I, yes, I have to fallen asleep and left my heavy gorilla hand sweating up her forehead. My eyes are hitting REM and colors and images are beginning to form as I happily drift off into lala land, “mmmmmhhmmm?” “John, you fell asleep,” she says. Quickly I am pulled back out of the light of dreamland and into reality of her voice. “Pet me, you fell asleep,” she asks. My hand moves up and then down. My eyes shut and my mouth opens and peace covers my face as I begin to breathe hard, falling to sweet sleep. “mmmmmhhhmmmm?” “Huh,” I mutter? I feel her head begging for petting on my chest, like a cat rubbing against your leg, and, “enough,” I think, pushing her over to her side of the bed. “Christie, I am falling asleep and can’t take this anymore,” I say. “Okay, okay,” she says. I lay back down try to reclaim my sleep, but of course now I can’t. I just get to listen to her instantly fall asleep, while I lay there feeling as restless as the undead.

Another petting problem is when I sit on the couch and I really want to take care of her because she isn’t feeling well. I rest her head on my lap and softly pet her. I look down at her sweet, restful face. Quiet, her closed eyes are still and she looks so calm. She’s asleep. I look outside at the birds; I look to the TV, then to the TV remote, but the noise. I look at the magazine….just out of reach. I look back to her head and think, how I could move it without her knowing. But I just can’t. I am bored stiff, she is asleep, and I am trapped sitting on the couch.

You see, these petting traps have made me a more aware man, a man who thinks ahead, who is more patient, a man who can say NO, sometimes. I mean, I always want to make her feel good, but if I am tired, she ain’t getting petted. If I’m falling asleep, I’m sorry honey you can, “mmmmhhmmmm?” all you want, but I’m going to sleep. I now ask myself how tired I am, then decide whether I can pet or not. If that’s what she wants and I feel good, then bring it on. I will pet her like my little lion cub, but if not, she is going to have to count sheep and bring visions of sugarplums dancing into her own head.