Last week I was walking down the street, along the sidewalk with a friend. All of the sudden I noticed a skunk on the pavement in front of me--in broad daylight.
I stopped in my tracks.
Maybe if I didn't move, it wouldn't notice me? But then, "Pepe le Pew" turned around and squatted, much like our dog does when she's about to drop a brown bomb.
The skunk pointed her little behind right at me, and like a fire hose, a stream of putrid smell came flying at me. It seemed like it was in slow motion.
I quickly jumped to the left, trying to avoid her sulfuric spray.
I jumped so fast, and so far, that I landed with a thud. ... Onto the floor beside my bed.
It was a dream, and here I was, in the middle of the night, lying on the hardwood floor.
A grown woman. 42 years old. Fell out of bed. For fear of a skunk.
When I was in my 20s, I got my first queen-sized bed. I was quite pleased with the size, especially since I'd only ever slept in a twin.
At the time, I lived in a large, two-story house with three other single girls. My room was right above the family room, and I quickly became known for being the first to go to bed.
|This is not my bed. Or my bedroom. But isn't it deliciously beautiful?|
The tufted headboard is to die for. And the chandelier!
What my roommates didn't know was that I had perfected a technique for getting into my queen bed each night. Because there was no footboard on the bed, I was able to slide in from the very end of the bed. Actually, dive in.
I would turn off the light; the switch was right by the door, and I would take exactly four large steps in total darkness to the end of my bed. At that point, I would stretch out my arms and "dive" into the bed.
But one night, a miscalculation on my part led to an unpleasant surprise...and the revealing of my secret nightly diving.
That particular night, I turned off the light as usual. But apparently my toes were not pointed directly at the bed. I was only slightly off track on the first step, but by step four, I was completely off kilter.
But I didn't know it.
Again, it was dark. Very dark. And my eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness.
So I took my usual dive, but ended up crashing just to the left of the bed.
My roomies, who were just below in the family room watching TV, heard the loud boom and quickly muted the television. What on earth just happened? they wondered.
A few minutes later, I came stumbling down the stairs, sporting a pretty goose egg on my forehead.
My ex-roomies still share this story when they need an impromptu entertaining story. It gets a lot of laughs, I guess.
If you are having a hard day, and you ask nicely, I may do a re-enactment for you.
Soon after getting married, and sharing my queen bed with a boy for the first time, I had an interesting and somewhat scary dream. In the dream, a large frog had landed on my leg.
(This was not too far from reality, as we lived in tropical Florida, on a lake, and saw many large frogs (toads?) on a regular basis.)
The dream was so realistic that I swatted--with all the girl strength I could muster--at this frog that had landed on my leg.
Unfortunately for my husband, it wasn't a frog. It was his large man paws, trying to be all cuddly,
It was the middle of the night, and neither one of us woke up enough to have a conversation about it.
The next morning, however, as we lay in bed, I said, "Sorry I hit you last night. I thought you were a frog."
There was silence for just a moment. And then my witty husband responded:
Right after graduating college, I was living at home, sleeping in my old bedroom. I woke up in the night to use the bathroom, but as I stood, I lost my balance. Like really lost my balance.
You have to understand that a person of my height is not always the most graceful flower in the garden. And back then I was not, how shall I put it....as sturdy as I am now. I was a waif. A slight breeze could blow me over.
Anyway, I lost my balance. I tried to aim for the bed as I fell, but being a twin bed, the target was not large enough.
Instead, the chest of drawers decided to Eskimo kiss me. I slammed into it, nose first, and broke my nose.
Imagine my embarrassment when I had to explain that the next day at my new job.
If you thought the title of this blog indicated that the content would be R-rated, I'm disappointed in you for clicking on the link.
And you should be ashamed of yourself for reading such nonsense.