Those who read this blog, and here I assume readers to be my wife, Lindsey, or the occasional passer-by looking for information on the Brandon, Iowa hockey team, may think I consider my wife to be insane. I have, on multiple occasions, referenced her tendencies towards physical abuse, to gloat at the misfortune of others, and an inability to remain coherent for more than an hour at any given time. I can no longer merely consider my wife insane for the evidences of this fact are now too blatant to continue to ignore. Observe.
During the first year of our marriage while dead asleep, not a usual occurrence for me, I found myself being bodily shaken by Lindsey. Assuming she needed some sort of assistance I woke up and sincerely asked "What is it? What's the matter?" To which she replied, "Scottish fashions." I paused. "Scottish fashions?" I asked her. "Scottish fashions?" she mimicked, and then began to laugh like a hyena before falling back to sleep. I, on the other hand, could not force myself to close my eyes for fear that sleeping would bring on another bout of her nocturnal lunacy.
While in the second year of our marriage I, now used to the frequent nighttime mutterings of my beloved, found myself awake as a loud thunder crash took place. I thought nothing of it but Lindsey sat bolt upright. I again inquired after her well-being to which she turned her head towards me and, eyes still closed, butted me with her near titanium strength forehead. I believe I said something like "Ow! What the heck?" and pushed her away from me, sure another attack was soon to follow. The next morning, my eye barely able to open from the force of her blow, she turned to me and asked "What's this goose egg on my forehead?" I glared at her as best I could with only one usable eye and, though I felt myself fierce at that moment, I probably only looked drunk.
Then tonight, this very night, while trying to fall asleep she turned to me, eyes still closed, then elbowed my in the ribs and spoke, "I keep seeing your head and your face keeps saying 'Thanks, a lot' because I bought the wrong kind of soap." I assured her I was perfectly fine with the soap she bought, she hasn't actually bought any but find it's safer to play along with her more rational nighttime hallucinations, and she went back to sleep. I am now stuck awake and faced with the prospect that my face now apparently speaks independently of my head, a feat I've not yet managed in my waking hours.
There you have it. I consider the above to be my most glaring evidences, examples that stand beyond reproof, of my wife's mental instability. These are offered in the hope that you not think unkindly on me for exposing the stress under which I live and, more importantly, take pity on my poor mostly incoherent wife. She's really crazy.