Her husband he tended to snore
Each night he would rumble and roar
Until her ears bled
And she beat on his head
And like Poe's raven screamed, "Nevermore!"
We are essentially living in one room due to the construction on the house. Have been since the end of November. In the room there is a 70 year old, full size, spool bed (the mattress is much younger, thank goodness), a much older oak washstand with a small old oak table in front of it. My computer is on the washstand, the keyboard is on the little oak table and I'm typing in the dark as the Engineer snores like a whole pride of lions beside me.
His snoring at times can be truly astounding. When we go camping, I never have to worry about bears in the night because I'm sure he will frighten them off. Before we got married and moved from his family's vacation cabin to a tent, he slept in the communal sleeping attic. The sweet little old grand-auntie who owns the cabin slept up there also. His snoring has been so bad that she has been known to throw shoes at him. Hit him too. When we set up the tent and moved outside, I thought she was going to shoot off fireworks in her celebration.
I never have hit him for the snoring. No matter how great the temptation, the worst I have done is poked him -- hard. Brianna, however, was not so restrained. It's one of the many things I miss that cat for. She always slept on her very own pillow at the head of the bed. When the Engineer's snoring became too loud and too persistent, she would stand up, glare at him, then haul back her paw, and POW!, whack him right on the head. He would usually sit up and say, in a very hurt voice, "The cat hit me!" I don't know why he complained, she never used her claws.
So I guess the limerick is semi-autobiographical.