Snakes In A Bed-Worse Than Snakes On A Plane

Last night, the Object and I returned to my place after seeing both the Regina Spektor and French Kicks Concerts. It was 12 or so, and after 6 straight hours of music, we were too bone-tired to actually walk aaaaaaaaaaalllll the way back to my bed. We flopped down on the couch, and the Object lazily flipped through channels. When he finally settled on a show about wedding planning, I took that as my cue to go to sleep.

I woke up around 2 a.m. to find my bed Object-less. I trudged aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllll the way back to my living room to find the Object snoring lightly, smiling in his sleep as he so often does.

Hugging my roomate's fat Egyptian Mao like a teddy bear.

He woke with a start, guiltily shoving the cat away (the Object professes to hate cats). "Bitch set me up!" We've heard that one before.

Under my covers, while the Object drifted seamlessly back to sleep, I was wide awake.

I tossed.

I turned.

I pondered the worse of two evils- acne or mosquitoes.

I checked to see if the toilet was flushed, the faucets were off, the doors and windows were locked, and that the books on the shelves were alphabetized according to their respective categories. Twelve times.

The last thing I saw before I settled into an uneasy sleep was the clock winking 3:30. Sometime later, as I dreamt of getting my head shaved into a mohawk/mullet while being interned in a Japanese prisoner-of-war camp, the Object shook me awake.

"Wake up. You've gotta wake up right now. We have to get out of here."

"Are you having one of your sleep hallucinations?" This was not the first time I'd been awoken in such a manner; the Object has introduced me on many occasions to the man who lives in the closet, giving orders after people have gone to sleep.

The Object stripped the blankets off of me, shooed me out of bed, and patted down the mattress. "No I'm totally awake. We have to get out of here now."

I was becoming terrified. "Oh my god, have they dropped the bomb? Oh my god, it's my hair, isn't it?! I have a mul-hawk!" Sometimes, in that inchoate area between sleep and consciousness, I don't necessarily realize I'm in one state and not the other. I certainly don't have the wherewithall to realize that the Object is just as retarded about it as I am.

"No!" The Object braced my shoulders and looked at me gravely "Angel,there are poisonous snakes in your bed."

"This had better not be your idea of a funny euphemism," I replied. Prison camp may be the least sexy place on earth- not where I want to hear about the Object's snake in my bed.

"This is serious! Get out of here- I'll stay and kill the snakes. Go now!" Who says chivalry is dead?

As I was preparing my flight, a thought stuck me- "Save the scraps of my hair; we can sell them and buy our way out of the camp."

This went on for some time- I'm pretty sure it ended only when kitty came in, bitch-slapped us both and told us to shut the hell up.

I am fairly certain this is why relationships go south- the lack of sleep. The Snakes-in-a-bed-in-prison-camp is only the latest episode in a series of dramas mid-somnolence. As our sleep deficit grows, our waking grumpiness grows at an exponential rate. Just earlier that day, a bitter argument about whether the Go! Team overlaps the Pipettes musically² brought us both to the brink of tears, prompting the Object to wonder, "Are we going to become one of those couples that fights all the time?"

I'm sleeping alone tonight.

But I'm a little worried kitty won't be able to fend off the snakes without help.






2 THEY DO.