Sleepless in Seattle

The title is probably misleading, I realize. I am not sleepless and this is not Seattle. But I thought it could work, because at some point, I probably will be sleepless. And as far as the Seattle thing, well, it had a better ring than Saskatoon. Just deal.
Anyways. It is nine pm and I am beginning to wind down for the night, although I anticipate a light sleep tonight at best. The reason: my dearly beloved husband is away. Every year he goes away for two days to participate in "Rusty Swingers" which is, I believe, a golf tournament and not a swinging convention for older, balding men.
Or at least, that's what I've been told.
And every year I spend two days with little to no sleep.
Why this should be the case, I have no idea.
When he is home, he snores like a chainsaw. I complain that I cannot fall asleep. I kick him in the shins from time to time to make my point very clear (not very hard, mind you, so bear that in mind. I mean, I don't leave bruises or anything. He's not battered.) Sometimes I take my pillow and blanky and stalk off to the couch, with a few choice words for him on my way out. Sometimes he takes his pillow and blanky and stalks off to the couch after being kicked one too many times. Baby.

And yet.
When he's not here the absence of snoring is the loudest noise ever. I just can't fall asleep. I hear the clock tick. I hear various noises coming from outside, which I perceive to be thugs doing their thugging: what that entails, I don't know, at least not exactly. But I have a pretty good idea vis a vis CSI Miami. Drug deals. Stabbing. Rape. Rape that includes stabbing: aggravated assault.
I look out the window.
I sit back down, not wanting to make a target of myself in the window for the thugs.
I sleep with the phone beside me.
The thugs. I know they're out there and further, I have reason to believe that they may or may not have been casing the house out for long enough to know that my husband is out of town. And there I am, ripe for the picking. Alone and defenseless. A thuggist dream rape victim. Because, of course, the mother of three with a sloppy half bun/half pony tail driving a 94 mini van is exaclty what they're all after.
Well, I'm not defenseless, I tell myself. I have a nail file beside the bed which I glance at furtively from time to time, making sure it's still there. I'll use it if I have to. I'll use it and I'll F them up. Of course, I'm not exaclty sure how I'll do that, but I do recall (vaguely) watching an episode of Oprah about how you could use objects from your purse as weapons. I'll aim for the eye, I tell myself.
I should just take up an affair, I think to myself.
The problem with an affair is that I don't know any men, and the ones that I do know are mostly related to me. I mean, good guys. But still. Relatives nonetheless.
Although, just this very morning a very good looking young doc asked me on a date.
Well. I'm paraphrasing a little.
I think his exact wording was that he asked me for the date, as he was filling out a lab requisition for me. But still, it's very similar. Virtually the same thing.
Anyways, I'm not kidding about the fact that there is a good looking doctor at work. He's young and blond and rather dreamy. Perhaps most importantly, he isn't inclined towards snake skin, pointy toed shoes which I am, apparently, averse to (see "Vaguely Uneasy" for elucidation on that point). So when he first started out, I spent some time chatting him up. About three sentences in he said "Oh, and did I tell you? I 'm getting married this summer!"
That was pretty much the end of my chatting him up. I was like "Yes, well, I see you're pretty much set up here, so I should just let you be."
Anyways, whatever. What do I care? I'm already married.
Such as it is sometimes.
But I should be going right now.
Have a good night.
Hopefully I will as well.
Thugs willing.