I awoke around 3:30 this morning because it was time to get up. Oh, I didn’t have anywhere to go or anything to do, but I was too wide-awake to go back to sleep. The feature nightmare was over, including the theatrical trailer and the director’s commentary, so there was no reason to stay in bed.
Whenever I get up at a ghastly hour, I am very careful not to disturb my beloved. After all, why should my ghosts affect her sleep? And even in the pitch of black, the little drool bubbles she blows sound absolutely adorable.
So I s-l-o-w-l-y pushed the bedclothes back, s-l-o-w-l-y sat up, and s-l-o-w-l-y lowered my left foot to the floor.
Dammit to hell! I stepped on either my teddy bear or one of the dogs' toys. It didn’t take long to find out which one it was: Molly, who was formerly sound asleep and snoring on the bed, was instantly wide-awake and jumping around like a lunatic. Irish came running from wherever he came running from, worried to death that he was missing something good. Or, more likely, that I was playing with one of his toys. Suddenly, at 3:32, it was PLAYTIME! including a festival of growls, snorts, sneezes, and my personal favorite, earsplitting barks.
So much for careful.
“Snarbogritz? Diddlegum? Whackerturd?”
That was Martha speaking Sleepinese. Translation: “Is it time to get up for work already? Is the house on fire? Did you plug up the toilet again?”
“No, honey, nothing like that. I was just fucking around here in the dark. You know me and how I like to fuck around in the dark.”
Why blame the dogs, I thought. After all, they can’t help they’re idiots.