Early last week, I got sick. The Boss had been fighting a cold for over a month, and it seemed that I had evaded her germs for as long as I could. I presented with the same symptoms as she had, with the runny/stuffy nose, cough, sore throat, and fever. It was fun stuff, let me tell you. Lucky for me, I don't stay sick for too long when I get colds, so I'm just about over it now.
When I was right in the middle of it, when the congestion was at it's worst, I would spend a couple hours a night on the couch, so The Boss could fall asleep and get to a deep sleep, before I would come to bed. I'm a pretty loud snorer as it is, so when you add in even a touch of congestion, it gets to be pretty unbearable. The Boss had likened the sound of my sick-snoring to a non-lubricated chainsaw with dull teeth trying to cut through thick flaps of wet leather. With a herd of angry cows and a mouth-breather in the background.
Clearly, I'm dead sexy when I'm sick. As if the snot and the boogers and the drool and the sweat wasn't enough.
After I tuck The Boss into bed, I would set an alarm on my cell phone for some point in the wee hours of the morning, and try to fit my six-foot-tall frame on our five-foot-long couch. I usually ended up spread eagle on my back (that's what she said!) with one leg dangling off the couch on the floor, and the other up on top of the back cushions. I'll sleep for a few hours until my alarm goes off, at which point I'll stumble to the bedroom to finish the rest of the night in bed.
But first, a pit stop at the toilet.
Now, we have two lights in our bathroom: one large bank of lights over the vanity, and a second in the exhaust fan mounted in the ceiling over the toilet. Most nights, having just woken up and not wanting to blind myself from the 15,000 mega-watt bulbs over the vanity, I usually turn on the light over the toilet. It's got a nice low-wattage bulb, and it's the perfect brightness for the middle-of-the-night piss.
On the night in question, I stumbled to the bathroom and switched on the second light like I had gotten in the habit of doing. As I stood there with one hand occupied with keeping aim and the other hand tasked with scratching various places, I thought that the light coming down from the ceiling above me was more... heavenly than normal. I was in the middle of the longest midnight piss of my life, and all I could think about was how I was bathing in this soft, ethereal light from the Gods. In this hazy state of half sleep, half consciousness, I became convinced that the light actually was coming from Heaven.
I started to panic, thinking I was going to take a closer walk with Jesus while urinating and scratching my ass. What was that thrumming sound? Was it the sound of God talking to me? Was it the sound of Him passing through the ceiling to join me in the bathroom? Was Jesus going to give me a chance to cover up before He just barged right in? Would it be rude of me to ask Him to wait a minute while I finished?
In my panic, the hand responsible for my aim became shaky, and I started to piss on the floor.
Feeling the warm spray of urine on my feet and shins was the wake-up call I needed. I fully woke up and came quickly to my senses, realizing (of course) that I had been hearing the rumble of the exhaust fan, and the light was just... a light bulb. As I knelt down on the floor to clean up the mess I made, I made a mental note to make sure I'm fully awake before taking a leak next time.
Any more religious experiences like this, and we'd have to get some more paper towels.