She woke me up with her huge belly laugh because she was laughing at me. I was talking in my sleep again.
I flew down on my broomstick to visit Andrea at University of Virginia for my yearly motherly house cleaning this past Friday. I brought Goose with me as she loves to vacuüm (she used to do so obsessively) and to organize.
I packed a gazillion little baskets from the Dollar Store, storage bags for under the bed, clips, hanging things, all to help organize. In packing all those things, I pretty much forgot to pack proper clothes for the weekend. When I got up Saturday morning I found the only other pair of pants I had packed other than the ones I wore down on Friday were a pair of black leggings. But when I put them on, they looked like tights. I said to Goose, “Crikey, Marty must have shrunk my pants”! (It couldn’t be because I gained weight.) She laughed because they were skin tight on me and I packed them thinking they were jeans. So I didn’t have a proper top to go with them. ”Proper” meaning long enough to cover the muckle and the bum. Nobody should see those body parts on anyone, especially in tight leggings. As Sciencegirl always says, “leggings are not pants.” Mine looked bad, inappropriate, and downright WalMartish.
Goose was kind enough to loan me a pair of her jogging pants. As I came out of the bathroom, Goose was standing there in her black jeans, and she said, “I think Marty shrunk my pants, too“! (Marty does not do her laundry, he only does ours during football games, he likes to do it, I’ve never asked him to do it.) And surely (don’t call me Shirley), it could not have been because she gained weight, either.
Back to me talking in my sleep. The first night she couldn’t remember what I had said during our restful night at the Hampton Inn in our two double beds. But she was flabbergasted at how I was clearly just having a conversation with someone. The next night she decided to really try to listen to mock me in the morning. The first thing I said was, “the chicken? You’re eating that huge serving of that chicken?” (We’re both still doing Weight Watchers so maybe I was thinking about the serving size of chicken she wolfed down at dinner.)
The next thing I said that evening, when she woke me with her burst of laughter, she asked me who I was talking to in my dream. I replied, “Marty, why what did I say?” She said, “You said, ‘and they put that whipped cream all over your face?”
She said each time I said everything with my sarcasm. She had some pretty good laughs at my expense. When I travel with Libbylicious she says I never shut up during the daytime, and I never shutup during the night time. Big ‘ole babies, what’s wrong with a little conversation in the middle of the night. At least I’m not fighting my demons at night anymore like I used to – punching poor unsuspecting sleeping Marty and almost punching my fist through the window. (Thanks to the lesser amount of Effexor, me thinks.)
Little Miss Sunshine