This is a story from back when my husband and I first started dating. We were in our early twenties but each still living with our families. He and I had plans to go somewhere the next day, so we asked his parents if it would be okay for me to sleep over so he wouldn’t have to drive to the next state to pick me up. Since we were just dating, his parents said we couldn’t share a bed. Fair enough. Their house, their rules. My boyfriend offered me his room, and he slept on the fold-out couch.

His family lived in one of those cape-style houses. The bedrooms upstairs had those slanted ceilings, and his bed was pushed up under one of them.

I went to bed, and everything seemed perfectly normal.

Then, the next morning at around 6:00 am, my poor sleepy self was brutally woken up by the most obnoxious rock song I have ever heard playing at top volume. I sat up in a panic and slammed my head against the ceiling. Panicking, I started banging on his CD radio, trying to turn it off. (I think I only managed to mute it.) Throwing the thing out the window seemed like an option at the time.

After I silenced the screeching monster, with adrenaline and heart racing, I ran down the stairs and leaped onto my boyfriend, grabbed him by the shoulders, and started screaming while shaking him:

Me: “What the h*** was that?!”

I ended up waking up his family, who were used to his alarm by now, but he was just dazed and confused. He’s a deep sleeper, thus why he needed an obnoxious alarm. His mom started laughing and told him:

Mother-In-Law: “You deserved that.”

She then led me into the kitchen with an offer of coffee and waffles. To this day, I refuse to listen to that song. Ever. Even if I like the band’s other songs. He and I still laugh about it today. We’ve been together for twenty-five years.