Comfort

It occurred to me last night that the sound of my mother snoring like a rhinoceros with blocked adenoids is one the most comforting sounds in the world.

There are two reasons for my taking comfort in such an otherwise unpleasant rumbling sound. One speaks of my true romantic nature, my inner-child, my inner-vulnerability and of the fact that I, like most gay boys, am a total Mama’s Boy. The other is purely practical.

When I hear her snoring in the dead of night, I know she is here; I know that I am safe because my Mummy will protect me. When I was a boy I was terribly afraid of the dark, I never felt particularly safe alone in my bedroom with all the potential baddies out there in the night and no one but my teddies to protect me. It was Mum who sat with me, aged 2 and a half, and explained that there is nothing to be afraid of; when the lights go out, everything stays the same except we can’t see it. Presumably I took this under advisement because I don’t remember any further incidents of night terror until we moved house when I was 7, at which point I was convinced I could hear “robbers” traipsing through the house in the dead of night. Although I’m no longer afraid of the dark, and no longer hear enigmatic robbers in the house at night, it is still comforting to know that she is there should I need her.

On the other hand, the sound of snoring indicates she is asleep and therefore my parents are not having sex. While I’ve passed the stage where the thought of Mum and Dad doing it is “eww grose” it is still nonetheless unpleasant. This is particularly relevant considering my life is becoming increasingly nocturnal (due in large part to the migraine medications containing a good hit of caffeine). Most nights I go outside for a smoke at least once after Mum and Dad have gone to bed, and to get outside I have to walk past their bedroom. They sleep with their door open, so you can see the huge potential for embarrassment. Whenever I get up, I walk slowly through the house, waiting for a tell-tale sound of the state before continuing confidently down the corridor to the front door.

Usually it is only after a few steps outside my bedroom door that I hear Mum snoring like a freight train on a collision course and know that all is right with the world.