While you were busy shutting down the city last night in the Big Apple, I was busy trying to avoid going to bed alone.
I watched Leno make fun of McCain, Letterman discuss the economy with Bill Clinton, and Craig Ferguson whisper about a hot girl in a shiny dress.
I was dreading that moment when I have to trudge up the stairs, turn off all the lights, and be serenaded to sleep by that unnerving combination of total silence and the annoying hum of the boy's 'fishy' light.
I dislike this moment partly because I miss you, and want to be sure you are safe where ever you are, and partly because I'm almost positive that surely this has to be the time, while I'm here alone in a quiet house, that green people from another planet will appear to whisk me away on a not-so-fun excursion into the outer limits [thanks to that chip they implanted in my nose 15 years ago in Colorado. STACY.].
But after a few conversations with you by the romantic light of text, and after firmly affixing my aluminum foil hat upon my head, I finally managed to settle in for a good night's sleep.
I tried to enjoy the fact that I could sprawl out across the entire bed without any complaints from anybody about my freezing 'are you sure you took your shoes off?' feet touching theirs.
I rolled around a bit, trying to find that perfect spot for slumber. Just when I was about to give up I stumbled upon one of the most heavenly sleep spots I'd ever encountered. It was as if I'd instantly been carried away on the backs of fleecy little sheep and plopped right down onto a cloud of the fluffiest cotton.
It was your side of the bed.
I couldn't believe you'd been keeping this from me. You'd been hoarding this little slice of heaven all this time and I didn't even know? No wonder you dosed off every time I started into another bedtime discussion on whether I should teach the boys how to tie their shoes, or maybe just invest in a lifetime supply of Vans.
To think, all this time I just thought you were tuning me out. I'm crazy, I know it. And I took all your snoring and sleep talking as a sign of agreement on this fact.
Little did I know your were being lured luxuriously into a blissful sleep by the siren song of the tranquility that is your side of the bed.
I did my best to stay up, trying to sleepily piece together a tirade on this injustice of this situation.
Alas, it was too late, I'd flirted with the fluff, and now the sandman was here. I tried to fight it, but it was no use, I was already drooling.
All over your fluffy pillows.