Hey, barf happens
I tend to enjoy the middle of the night, because with the Man, Woman, and Rodent all piled up in the bedroom, I have my pick of all the cushiony spots in the house to relax (between patrols and skirmishes, of course — don't kid yourself into thinking Shmool would sleep during his watch).
The Man, it seems, can sleep through anything. Many a night I've held my claws to his throat just to see if his survival instincts will kick in. Nothing... not a twitch. I've seen the Rodent desperately try to wake him for breakfast when the Woman is AWOL, and pretty much nothing short of standing on his face will rouse him from his coma (and even then, he usually just rolls his face over into the protection of his pillow).
Yet somehow, whenever I'm enjoying one of my more satisfying burps — the productive kind — the Man leaps into action like, well, me. I swear, he springs vertically out of the bed and puts his shoes on while he's still in the air. Impressive, but so pointless. After all, if I'm not bothered by a little buoyancy in the bowels, what's his complaint?
Take last night — with the neighborhood at peace in the stillness of the wee hours, I had curled up into the Rodent's toy-nest for a nice little na- ... meditation! A meditation. A brief centering of my energies. It's a spiritual warrior thing. Anyway. I felt a pleasant little gurgle within. Ah, so something's not quite settled in there. Best get it out.
Mind you, I'm on the opposite side of the house from the Man's sleep-chamber. So, I give a little haaaak, a little wahooook, a little blaaaarp, and up she comes. So sooner does the spit hit the afghan than I find myself suddenly scooped, flung, and airborne. I've gone from the nest to the street in .2 seconds, and I didn't even see the door open.
And I don't mind telling you, it's not like the Man doesn't do his share of barfing around here. And when he's the one giving something back to the community, he doesn't do it with the dignity and poise that I bring to the job. When he “talks to Ralph on the big white phone,” it's an ugly, drawn-out affair indeed — after which the Woman usually rewards him with water and a hot towel!
Oh, the hypocrisy.
The Man, it seems, can sleep through anything. Many a night I've held my claws to his throat just to see if his survival instincts will kick in. Nothing... not a twitch. I've seen the Rodent desperately try to wake him for breakfast when the Woman is AWOL, and pretty much nothing short of standing on his face will rouse him from his coma (and even then, he usually just rolls his face over into the protection of his pillow).
Yet somehow, whenever I'm enjoying one of my more satisfying burps — the productive kind — the Man leaps into action like, well, me. I swear, he springs vertically out of the bed and puts his shoes on while he's still in the air. Impressive, but so pointless. After all, if I'm not bothered by a little buoyancy in the bowels, what's his complaint?
Take last night — with the neighborhood at peace in the stillness of the wee hours, I had curled up into the Rodent's toy-nest for a nice little na- ... meditation! A meditation. A brief centering of my energies. It's a spiritual warrior thing. Anyway. I felt a pleasant little gurgle within. Ah, so something's not quite settled in there. Best get it out.
Mind you, I'm on the opposite side of the house from the Man's sleep-chamber. So, I give a little haaaak, a little wahooook, a little blaaaarp, and up she comes. So sooner does the spit hit the afghan than I find myself suddenly scooped, flung, and airborne. I've gone from the nest to the street in .2 seconds, and I didn't even see the door open.
And I don't mind telling you, it's not like the Man doesn't do his share of barfing around here. And when he's the one giving something back to the community, he doesn't do it with the dignity and poise that I bring to the job. When he “talks to Ralph on the big white phone,” it's an ugly, drawn-out affair indeed — after which the Woman usually rewards him with water and a hot towel!
Oh, the hypocrisy.
so sayeth Shmool on Monday, December 05, 2005
1 Comments:
Beautiful. I'm so glad that I found you through Dating Dummy. A helpful hint: puking on tile/hardwood floor is more acceptable than an afghan.
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