Sleepy Things

Currently Reading: The Island at the End of the World by Sam Taylor

Laugh and the world laughs with you, snore and you sleep alone.
--Anthony Burgess

Last night, Chris had settled into bed beside me, enjoying his midnight snack. I had dozed off a little while before. So there he is, innocently munching away on his cheese and crackers, mesmerized by the antic of a crazed Jack Sparrow on the telly, when suddenly, his wife sits up, waving her arms in front of her blindly. Finally she opens her mouth and yells, "WHERE ARE THE BLOODY TISSUES?!? CHRISTOPHER STEVEN, YOU DRIVE ME UP THE WALL!!!" then collapsed, unconscious, the perfect vision of serenity.
Chris, on the other hand, was completely confounded. What. Had. Just. Happened? He looked around for the tissues. There they were, by the edge of the bed like always. There was only one explanation. His wife was insane. Yep, that was it. She had finally lost her mind. He sat, very still, waited a moment, hoping the insanity had passed, then poked the woman sleeping like a corpse. "Sarah? Sarah . . ."
"Mmmmwhaa?"
"You just yelled at me."
"Mmwell yeah . . . I needed the tissues really bad but you hid them an . . ." I rolled over, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. "Wait . . ."
Chris was grinning.
"There weren't tissues? And I . . . oh . . . ah ha . . . hahahahaha!" And we both burst into laughter.
"You just sat up and yelled at me and I was like what the crap?" Chris said, still laughing.

I woke up again towards morning, yelling at Chris that we were going to be late . . . then realized it was Thursday, not Monday, and went back to sleep.

We're still laughing about the dream tissue incident.