For years I didn’t snore. At least no one ever told me I snored. That was probably because I always lived alone, and the few people I’d let spend the night didn’t want to tell me something so horrifying about myself.

When I thought I didn’t snore I was a little smug about it. I had grown up with a father who snored so loudly he disturbed the whole house. My step-mother didn’t sleep with my father more nights than she did because of his loud snoring.  And my sister snored.  But I didn’t, dammit.

My father was not overweight at all. He was actually quite slim and muscular. I obviously did not inherit this trait from him.

I did, however, inherit his crooked teeth, bad eyes, acne-prone skin, big nose, snoring, and bad knees. I also inherited his hair. My dad, though he has the same hair style for probably 50 years, has great hair. It’s thick and full and has, at the age of 60, only about ten grays.

So I have my father’s great hair. I still have no gray hair whatsoever (knock on wood), and balding is not in the realm of my possibility. Plus, my scalp very strong: Wads of hair can be pulled out with nary a notice from me.

But my knees. I was riding in the back of a cab on the way home from an overnight date.  The cabbie was very chatty.  Annoyingly so.  He wanted to talk about the weather, and the various neighborhoods through which we were driving.  My date had picked me up at my place the night before so I didn’t have my iPod with me.  That thing has saved me from stupid conversations countless times.

The cabbie expounded the virtues of San Francisco’s many hills and talked about them being good for walking.  The “conversation” up to that point had consisted of him talking and me grunting in agreement, but when he talked about walking the hills I actually had something to say.  I said walking up hills is great but that walking down hills hurt my knees.

The cab driver said I need to lose weight.  What?  So he repeated it.  He said that if I lost weight that my knees wouldn’t hurt.  Actually, no.  The same slim father who snores like a man three times his size also has shitty knees.  It hurts his knees, and as luck would have it, mine as well, to walk down hill.  That means I prefer to walk up hills and find the lowest grade, or stairs, for descending the heights of San Francisco.  That also means I shouldn’t have to put up with a cabbie telling me to lose weight.

So I told him to pull over.  He thought I should walk more then I’d walk more, and take money out of his pocket.  He didn’t seem to get it that I wanted out, many blocks before my original destination.  I had to raise my voice.  I said several times to let me out.  Finally he pulled over.  Unfortunately, I still tipped him.  I simply cannot not tip.

I also gave him another tip, not to tell his fares that they’re fat, that few people appreciate it.

I walked home the rest of the way.  I avoided walking down any hills, though, for fear of hurting my knees.

I cannot, however, avoid snoring.  I’ve been told sometimes it sounds quiet and sweet, while at other times it’s loud and not very lady-like.  Well, there’s really not much I can do so I just warn those who will sleep in the same bed, or even room, with me.  It’s not very sexy; I snore.

I swear.  True story.

Tags: foreign love, manners, SF love

Categories: True Story.

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2 Responses

1. Liz Doherty:

   You have to spend the night with someone to disturb them with your snoring. There’s something I haven’t done in a LONG time…

   31.01.2010 23:42

2. shazamsf:

   Yeah, for the most part there is no sleeping over. But with the new ‘mate, well, it’s a nightly thing.

   31.01.2010 23:51