If this is your first visit, be sure to check out the FAQ by clicking the link above. You may have to register before you can post: click the register link above to proceed. To start viewing messages, select the forum that you want to visit from the selection below. |
|
|
|
Thread Tools | Display Modes |
#1
|
|||
|
|||
[OT] Last Night
Last night, after an incredibly exciting evening of cooking dinner, shopping
and having a long and incredibly detailed discussion of the existentialist sub-theme in Thomas the Tank compared and contrasted to the essential Marxist nature of Bob The Builder, I finally found my way to bed at the exceptionally late time of 10pm. Having not been bothered to replace the light bulb in the bedroom for several decades now, I didn't bother looking where I was going, the body has developed 'muscle memory' of its own about this particular activity, and can find its own way to bed, even if the brain has turned itself off. I used to think this was a useful characteristic when I went out drinking to the wee small hour sof the morning with my friends, but find its even more essential when one has already fallen asleep at 6pm and still has another 4 hours of explaining why one shouldn't try to poke popcorn into the dog's bottom to someone who has the attention span of a gnat with brain damage. So it came as a bit of a shock that there was a definite *crunching* sound as my not insubstantial weight fell upon the mattress. This, however, didn't deter me. Well, not much. I am used to strange things in the bed these days - the sort that wiggle and pull my hair and want have a deep & meaningful about the nature and meaning of poo-poo at 3am. Quite frankly, I can sleep through anything, and a mere 'crunch' in the bed no longer bothers me. Unless of course, the crunch has a definite roach or arachnid sort of sound. But this particular crunching was not of the exoskeletal sort, and I was not alarmed - nor even alert. I turned over, more crunching. I rearranged the pillows - more crunching. In a last ditch effort I 'foofed' the doona. In the dark and gloom, it sounded very much like there were *things* falling on the floor. Light things, no heavy impacts, but definite 'plopping' sorts of sounds. And now my shoulder & hip were feeling rather itchy. Something was afoot. Or rather ashoulder and ahip. I reached under the doona to have a bit of a feel about. I found balls. (Joel was not in bed with me). Lots of balls. *Hundreds* of balls. I got out of bed, and my foot crunched on the floor. The smell of cheesy snack food was now quite overwhelming. I turned the hall light on to see what terrible tragedy had befallen my bedchamber. There were deceased, critically injured and intact-but-stale cheese & bacon balls all through my bed. They had gotten *under* the sheets, into my pillow cases and even throughout the doona. My bed was full of bright yellow, sticky, oily fragments, and I had been clearly crumbed with them too. This does explain why my son smelt vaguely of 'cheesy poufs' when I came home, but hadn't actually eaten any. He had generously fed my clearly malnourished and starving bed instead, bless him. When I was young, I had not envisaged myself having to vacuum snack food crumbs out of my bed. Clearly, my adult life is not what I had imagined it to be. Then again, I don't think any sane person would imagine getting *into* bed with cheesy-bacon balls (then again, some people have really *strange* ideas on what they should sleep with!). So, after clogging up the vacuum twice with sticky yellow ex-food, I chose to have a shower, and put an end to my resemblance to an item due for deep frying. The bed clothes went into the washing machine, and as I loaded them 50 minutes later into the dryer, I consoled myself with the thought that doing laundry in the dead of night was probably good practice for when Cary starts wetting the bed. *If* he lives that long! |
#2
|
|||
|
|||
[OT] Last Night
Ah, the joys of parenthood!
-- Joy "If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk? -- Jay Brand, cognitive psychologist "Yowie" wrote in message ... Last night, after an incredibly exciting evening of cooking dinner, shopping and having a long and incredibly detailed discussion of the existentialist sub-theme in Thomas the Tank compared and contrasted to the essential Marxist nature of Bob The Builder, I finally found my way to bed at the exceptionally late time of 10pm. Having not been bothered to replace the light bulb in the bedroom for several decades now, I didn't bother looking where I was going, the body has developed 'muscle memory' of its own about this particular activity, and can find its own way to bed, even if the brain has turned itself off. I used to think this was a useful characteristic when I went out drinking to the wee small hour sof the morning with my friends, but find its even more essential when one has already fallen asleep at 6pm and still has another 4 hours of explaining why one shouldn't try to poke popcorn into the dog's bottom to someone who has the attention span of a gnat with brain damage. So it came as a bit of a shock that there was a definite *crunching* sound as my not insubstantial weight fell upon the mattress. This, however, didn't deter me. Well, not much. I am used to strange things in the bed these days - the sort that wiggle and pull my hair and want have a deep & meaningful about the nature and meaning of poo-poo at 3am. Quite frankly, I can sleep through anything, and a mere 'crunch' in the bed no longer bothers me. Unless of course, the crunch has a definite roach or arachnid sort of sound. But this particular crunching was not of the exoskeletal sort, and I was not alarmed - nor even alert. I turned over, more crunching. I rearranged the pillows - more crunching. In a last ditch effort I 'foofed' the doona. In the dark and gloom, it sounded very much like there were *things* falling on the floor. Light things, no heavy impacts, but definite 'plopping' sorts of sounds. And now my shoulder & hip were feeling rather itchy. Something was afoot. Or rather ashoulder and ahip. I reached under the doona to have a bit of a feel about. I found balls. (Joel was not in bed with me). Lots of balls. *Hundreds* of balls. I got out of bed, and my foot crunched on the floor. The smell of cheesy snack food was now quite overwhelming. I turned the hall light on to see what terrible tragedy had befallen my bedchamber. There were deceased, critically injured and intact-but-stale cheese & bacon balls all through my bed. They had gotten *under* the sheets, into my pillow cases and even throughout the doona. My bed was full of bright yellow, sticky, oily fragments, and I had been clearly crumbed with them too. This does explain why my son smelt vaguely of 'cheesy poufs' when I came home, but hadn't actually eaten any. He had generously fed my clearly malnourished and starving bed instead, bless him. When I was young, I had not envisaged myself having to vacuum snack food crumbs out of my bed. Clearly, my adult life is not what I had imagined it to be. Then again, I don't think any sane person would imagine getting *into* bed with cheesy-bacon balls (then again, some people have really *strange* ideas on what they should sleep with!). So, after clogging up the vacuum twice with sticky yellow ex-food, I chose to have a shower, and put an end to my resemblance to an item due for deep frying. The bed clothes went into the washing machine, and as I loaded them 50 minutes later into the dryer, I consoled myself with the thought that doing laundry in the dead of night was probably good practice for when Cary starts wetting the bed. *If* he lives that long! |
#3
|
|||
|
|||
[OT] Last Night
Oh, Vickie, once again you have made me chuckle, giggle, and guffaw, with
your writings.... while at the same time *very* glad that I do not have children! I think that if *I* found 'cheesy poufs' in *my* bed, I would have just eaten them (and hoped that said toddler that had placed them in the bed, hadn't previously tried to feed them to the dog's butt)! In , Yowie purred: Last night, after an incredibly exciting evening of cooking dinner, shopping and having a long and incredibly detailed discussion of the existentialist sub-theme in Thomas the Tank compared and contrasted to the essential Marxist nature of Bob The Builder, I finally found my way to bed at the exceptionally late time of 10pm. Having not been bothered to replace the light bulb in the bedroom for several decades now, I didn't bother looking where I was going, the body has developed 'muscle memory' of its own about this particular activity, and can find its own way to bed, even if the brain has turned itself off. I used to think this was a useful characteristic when I went out drinking to the wee small hour sof the morning with my friends, but find its even more essential when one has already fallen asleep at 6pm and still has another 4 hours of explaining why one shouldn't try to poke popcorn into the dog's bottom to someone who has the attention span of a gnat with brain damage. So it came as a bit of a shock that there was a definite *crunching* sound as my not insubstantial weight fell upon the mattress. This, however, didn't deter me. Well, not much. I am used to strange things in the bed these days - the sort that wiggle and pull my hair and want have a deep & meaningful about the nature and meaning of poo-poo at 3am. Quite frankly, I can sleep through anything, and a mere 'crunch' in the bed no longer bothers me. Unless of course, the crunch has a definite roach or arachnid sort of sound. But this particular crunching was not of the exoskeletal sort, and I was not alarmed - nor even alert. I turned over, more crunching. I rearranged the pillows - more crunching. In a last ditch effort I 'foofed' the doona. In the dark and gloom, it sounded very much like there were *things* falling on the floor. Light things, no heavy impacts, but definite 'plopping' sorts of sounds. And now my shoulder & hip were feeling rather itchy. Something was afoot. Or rather ashoulder and ahip. I reached under the doona to have a bit of a feel about. I found balls. (Joel was not in bed with me). Lots of balls. *Hundreds* of balls. I got out of bed, and my foot crunched on the floor. The smell of cheesy snack food was now quite overwhelming. I turned the hall light on to see what terrible tragedy had befallen my bedchamber. There were deceased, critically injured and intact-but-stale cheese & bacon balls all through my bed. They had gotten *under* the sheets, into my pillow cases and even throughout the doona. My bed was full of bright yellow, sticky, oily fragments, and I had been clearly crumbed with them too. This does explain why my son smelt vaguely of 'cheesy poufs' when I came home, but hadn't actually eaten any. He had generously fed my clearly malnourished and starving bed instead, bless him. When I was young, I had not envisaged myself having to vacuum snack food crumbs out of my bed. Clearly, my adult life is not what I had imagined it to be. Then again, I don't think any sane person would imagine getting *into* bed with cheesy-bacon balls (then again, some people have really *strange* ideas on what they should sleep with!). So, after clogging up the vacuum twice with sticky yellow ex-food, I chose to have a shower, and put an end to my resemblance to an item due for deep frying. The bed clothes went into the washing machine, and as I loaded them 50 minutes later into the dryer, I consoled myself with the thought that doing laundry in the dead of night was probably good practice for when Cary starts wetting the bed. *If* he lives that long! |
#4
|
|||
|
|||
[OT] Last Night
Yowie wrote:
Last night, after an incredibly exciting evening of cooking dinner, shopping and having a long and incredibly detailed discussion of the existentialist sub-theme in Thomas the Tank compared and contrasted to the essential Marxist nature of Bob The Builder, I finally found my way to bed at the exceptionally late time of 10pm. snip Forgive me, Vicky, but I did laugh a couple of times while reading that. I hope you're keeping all these stories to show Cary's friends when (if) he's a teenager. ;-) -- Adrian (Owned by Snoopy and Bagheera) Cats leave pawprints on your heart. http://community.webshots.com/user/clowderuk |
#5
|
|||
|
|||
[OT] Last Night
"Adrian A" wrote in message
om... Yowie wrote: Last night, after an incredibly exciting evening of cooking dinner, shopping and having a long and incredibly detailed discussion of the existentialist sub-theme in Thomas the Tank compared and contrasted to the essential Marxist nature of Bob The Builder, I finally found my way to bed at the exceptionally late time of 10pm. snip Forgive me, Vicky, but I did laugh a couple of times while reading that. I hope you're keeping all these stories to show Cary's friends when (if) he's a teenager. ;-) I'm glad you laughed, thats why I wrote it. The surrealism of finding cheesy-bacon balls in my bed just struck me as surreal - and therefore funny. Yowie |
#6
|
|||
|
|||
[OT] Last Night
"Yowie" wrote in message ... "Adrian A" wrote in message om... Yowie wrote: Last night, after an incredibly exciting evening of cooking dinner, shopping and having a long and incredibly detailed discussion of the existentialist sub-theme in Thomas the Tank compared and contrasted to the essential Marxist nature of Bob The Builder, I finally found my way to bed at the exceptionally late time of 10pm. snip Forgive me, Vicky, but I did laugh a couple of times while reading that. I hope you're keeping all these stories to show Cary's friends when (if) he's a teenager. ;-) I'm glad you laughed, thats why I wrote it. The surrealism of finding cheesy-bacon balls in my bed just struck me as surreal - and therefore funny. Well, quite a lot becomes surreal at 10pm after an evening with a gentleman of Cary's tender years. But this was exceptionally funny from a safe distance. My mother would have had a fit if she knew I fairly regular have to vacuum the sheets with the dustbuster at bedtime. I know I'll miss kids with sand on their feet when they've all grown, but in my bed isn't a place I'm going to miss it. Jo |
#7
|
|||
|
|||
[OT] Last Night
Yowie wrote:
Last night, after an incredibly exciting evening of cooking dinner, shopping and having a long and incredibly detailed discussion of the existentialist sub-theme in Thomas the Tank compared and contrasted to the essential Marxist nature of Bob The Builder, I finally found my way to bed at the exceptionally late time of 10pm... [snip] This story would make Dave Barry proud. Thanks for the giggle. I think it would be interesting to elicit the rationale from your son as to exactly why he felt the need to stuff your bed with cheese puffs. If he can remember, that is! I am used to strange things in the bed these days - the sort that wiggle and pull my hair and want have a deep & meaningful about the nature and meaning of poo-poo at 3am. Joel sounds like quite the conversationalist. When I was young, I had not envisaged myself having to vacuum snack food crumbs out of my bed. sigh The things we lower ourselves to... Great story, thanks for posting! Joyce |
#8
|
|||
|
|||
[OT] Last Night
Please tell this confused American what a doona is.... Is it a pillow?
Head butts to you and yours, Lisa. "Joy" wrote in message ... Ah, the joys of parenthood! -- Joy "If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk? -- Jay Brand, cognitive psychologist "Yowie" wrote in message ... Last night, after an incredibly exciting evening of cooking dinner, shopping and having a long and incredibly detailed discussion of the existentialist sub-theme in Thomas the Tank compared and contrasted to the essential Marxist nature of Bob The Builder, I finally found my way to bed at the exceptionally late time of 10pm. Having not been bothered to replace the light bulb in the bedroom for several decades now, I didn't bother looking where I was going, the body has developed 'muscle memory' of its own about this particular activity, and can find its own way to bed, even if the brain has turned itself off. I used to think this was a useful characteristic when I went out drinking to the wee small hour sof the morning with my friends, but find its even more essential when one has already fallen asleep at 6pm and still has another 4 hours of explaining why one shouldn't try to poke popcorn into the dog's bottom to someone who has the attention span of a gnat with brain damage. So it came as a bit of a shock that there was a definite *crunching* sound as my not insubstantial weight fell upon the mattress. This, however, didn't deter me. Well, not much. I am used to strange things in the bed these days - the sort that wiggle and pull my hair and want have a deep & meaningful about the nature and meaning of poo-poo at 3am. Quite frankly, I can sleep through anything, and a mere 'crunch' in the bed no longer bothers me. Unless of course, the crunch has a definite roach or arachnid sort of sound. But this particular crunching was not of the exoskeletal sort, and I was not alarmed - nor even alert. I turned over, more crunching. I rearranged the pillows - more crunching. In a last ditch effort I 'foofed' the doona. In the dark and gloom, it sounded very much like there were *things* falling on the floor. Light things, no heavy impacts, but definite 'plopping' sorts of sounds. And now my shoulder & hip were feeling rather itchy. Something was afoot. Or rather ashoulder and ahip. I reached under the doona to have a bit of a feel about. I found balls. (Joel was not in bed with me). Lots of balls. *Hundreds* of balls. I got out of bed, and my foot crunched on the floor. The smell of cheesy snack food was now quite overwhelming. I turned the hall light on to see what terrible tragedy had befallen my bedchamber. There were deceased, critically injured and intact-but-stale cheese & bacon balls all through my bed. They had gotten *under* the sheets, into my pillow cases and even throughout the doona. My bed was full of bright yellow, sticky, oily fragments, and I had been clearly crumbed with them too. This does explain why my son smelt vaguely of 'cheesy poufs' when I came home, but hadn't actually eaten any. He had generously fed my clearly malnourished and starving bed instead, bless him. When I was young, I had not envisaged myself having to vacuum snack food crumbs out of my bed. Clearly, my adult life is not what I had imagined it to be. Then again, I don't think any sane person would imagine getting *into* bed with cheesy-bacon balls (then again, some people have really *strange* ideas on what they should sleep with!). So, after clogging up the vacuum twice with sticky yellow ex-food, I chose to have a shower, and put an end to my resemblance to an item due for deep frying. The bed clothes went into the washing machine, and as I loaded them 50 minutes later into the dryer, I consoled myself with the thought that doing laundry in the dead of night was probably good practice for when Cary starts wetting the bed. *If* he lives that long! |
#9
|
|||
|
|||
[OT] Last Night
On Fri, 20 Apr 2007 10:58:51 GMT, "Don & Lisa"
yodeled: Please tell this confused American what a doona is.... Is it a pillow? Head butts to you and yours, Lisa. We would call it a duvet, or a light comforter. Theresa Stinky Pictures: http://community.webshots.com/album/125591586JWEFwh Make Levees, Not War |
#10
|
|||
|
|||
[OT] Last Night
Yowie wrote:
Last night, after an incredibly exciting evening of cooking dinner, shopping and having a long and incredibly detailed discussion of the existentialist sub-theme in Thomas the Tank compared and contrasted to the essential Marxist nature of Bob The Builder, I finally found my way to bed at the exceptionally late time of 10pm. Having not been bothered to replace the light bulb in the bedroom for several decades now, I didn't bother looking where I was going, the body has developed 'muscle memory' of its own about this particular activity, and can find its own way to bed, even if the brain has turned itself off. I used to think this was a useful characteristic when I went out drinking to the wee small hour sof the morning with my friends, but find its even more essential when one has already fallen asleep at 6pm and still has another 4 hours of explaining why one shouldn't try to poke popcorn into the dog's bottom to someone who has the attention span of a gnat with brain damage. So it came as a bit of a shock that there was a definite *crunching* sound as my not insubstantial weight fell upon the mattress. snip So, after clogging up the vacuum twice with sticky yellow ex-food, I chose to have a shower, and put an end to my resemblance to an item due for deep frying. The bed clothes went into the washing machine, and as I loaded them 50 minutes later into the dryer, I consoled myself with the thought that doing laundry in the dead of night was probably good practice for when Cary starts wetting the bed. *If* he lives that long! Thanks for the laugh, Vicky. I'm sorry you got less sleep than you expected (and needed). Purrs and best wishes, Polonca and Soncek |
|
Thread Tools | |
Display Modes | |
|
|
Similar Threads | ||||
Thread | Thread Starter | Forum | Replies | Last Post |
Little Boy was out all night | [email protected] | Cat anecdotes | 0 | August 31st 06 09:03 PM |
Little Boy was out all night | Jo Firey | Cat anecdotes | 0 | August 31st 06 07:46 PM |
Sunday night was biff night | Helen Wheels | Cat anecdotes | 8 | July 8th 05 04:37 AM |
sad night (OT) | David Yehudah | Cat anecdotes | 16 | April 28th 04 06:18 AM |
I SAW A CAT HIT BY A CAR LAST NIGHT! :o( | Gia | Cat health & behaviour | 36 | September 29th 03 06:05 PM |