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"TURN! OVER!!" I beg for the third time in half an hour. My husband snores like a banshee (not that I've ever heard one snore nor have I ever seen one). This time I leave out the "PLEEEEZE."

"Wha? Huh?" he groans from somewhere in dreamland, as he shifts his position slightly.

"You're SNORRRING!" I wail, irritation thinning my voice after my innumerable fruitless attempts to subdue those snoring sounds - the, interminable, deafening roar!

I finally succeed. Or so I think. He momentarily emerges from La-la-Land, lifts his head turtle-style and mumbles: "No I'm not!"

No sooner are the words out of his mouth than he falls asleep again, and off he goes: first pianissimo, then building to a grand crescendo, as if to say "I'll GIVE you snoring!!"

Exasperated and insulted, I nevertheless respond sweetly: "If you weren't snoring, why on earth would I wake you up to turn over?"

"Beats me!" he mutters accusingly, and off he goes again.

In sheer desperation I grab my pillow and a blanket, stomp my way to the living room and collapse onto the sofa. Eureka!!! Blissful silence! It's cramped, but who cares? It's quiet! I position myself carefully so that I don't once again fall out of this narrow, makeshift bed.

When he wakes up in the morning, fresh as a daisy and full of the joys of spring, he remembers nothing of our little nighttime verbal dispute. Why should he? He was sleeping all night - I'm the one who spent half the night nudging, cajoling, begging, yelling and poking.

"I have not slept a wink all night!" (A little exaggeration doesn't hurt). "You were snoring so badly," I complain, hoping for sympathy - and an admission of guilt. Instead, he turns the tables:

"You snore, too," he says testily. "But you don't hear me complaining."

Excuse me? Now he is trying to make it about me? Nice try! Think again, buddy!

Now don't get me wrong. I love this man to bits, and we have been together for 27 wonderfully happy years. But his snoring, which only started AFTER I had fallen in love with him and married him, is going to be the death of me. Isn't it fascinating how nature hides the ugly side of aging until it's too late?

Of course, I'm aging flawlessly.

So, if all else fails, I have to ask myself: Whose asinine idea was it that married couples should share a bedroom?

If I'm so modern about the solution, why haven't I moved to another room? Why haven't I taken my own advice? Well, I love our nightly cuddle and my body pillow doesn't quite cut it as a sleeping partner. Then there's the question of who would get the spacious master bedroom with the en suite. Now there's a fight waiting to happen.

So here I am, yet again on the cramped sofa, desperate to escape those horrible snoring sounds, and hoping that I don't end up on the floor.

Hark! I hear the pitter-patter of husband-feet approaching. He leans over to kiss me good morning, but instead of a kiss I hear a click, followed by a series of thunderous, trumpet-like blasts! My eyes spring open in shock. Didn't I sleep on the sofa to get away from this?

What's that you say? That's me? You recorded me snoring? How could you?

He singlehandedly exposed my inelegance and imperfections and robbed me of the privilege of being able to point a self-righteous finger.

All that's left for me now is to patiently wait for a touch of age-related hearing loss.

- Adele Gould

Originally from South Africa, Adele Gould is a retired social worker who's passionate about writing. Her blog includes several pieces that have been published in the Globe and Mail in Canada. Adele and her second husband, together 27 years, have eight children and four grandchildren between them. Besides a writer, she's a woodcarver, avid photographer and volunteer.