Sleepin’ & Creepin’

If there’s anyone that knows the trials of being with a person who has an overactive imagination, it’s my boyfriend “Smith.” This is a tale of such merriment that is his life experience with me.

I woke abruptly from a sound sleep by the sound our garage door opening. I rubbed my eyes, looked over at the time and tried to focus. It was 4:27 AM, the most eastern standardness of times. My initial reaction was “Sweet Baby Jesus, this is it. We under attack, bastards trying to take a bitch out in her sleep… THROUGH OUR OWN GARAGE! OH THE HUMANITY!!!” *Grabs an available shoe to arm myself. But then, shocker, I didn’t see Smith in the bed! I was like “MUTHAFUGGASAY WHAAAT?!!!!!” I creeped out of the bedroom in the dark shadow of night. I’m not sure why I was creeping, but it felt appropriate at the time. I was in a night shirt that was waaay too short and my ass was hanging out, but I didn’t care. (People will picture someone dressed sexy  here, but I assure you I was not at the time. It was more like “People of Walmart take a nap” type of outfit.) I actually like it being short so I can stay nimble in the night, reacting to ninja attacks at the drop of a hat without the death sentence of sleep pants. I still didn’t know who I would be meeting at the garage so I went to inspect from another angle. “Maybe Smith was just letting a critter out of the garage? Maybe he accidentally hit his door opener?” I needed more information. I crawled, ass-out, to the front of the house. Then, I was shocked at the taillights going down the road. “Son. Of a. Bish.” I knew for sure no one was trying to rape me, and it was Smith who’d used the garage. This was my inner monologue at that point in time:

“WHAT. THE. SHIT?! Oh no he didn’t start creeping out in the middle of the night on my ass! He didn’t even wake me! I’ma call him RIGHT NOW! CREEP THEEZE, BOOOOOiiiii!” (Because my inner monologue is narrated by Flavor Flav.)

I’m Nancy Drewnicorn

I ran inside and got my phone, then ran back outside for no other reason than I was still half asleep. I should mention that I’m normally not an angry person – but this experience turned me all Samuel Jackson in 2 seconds flat. I was walking all wide, using my power walk arms and ready to start poppin’ caps in the air at any moment… if I wasn’t afraid of guns or fire that is.

My pink Dooney and Bourke wristlet says “Bad Mutha Fugga” too!

I blame my anger inflammation on the hour and the moon and el nino ’cause I hear he’s a bastid. Anyhow, Smith FINALLY picks up…

“Uh… *fumbles phone a bit* heh…hello?” Smith said sheepishly.

“Yeah, hi Lionel <Richie>, where are you going at 4am?”

Lionel Smithie

“What? *fumbles phone* Nowhere. Where should I be going?”

“YOU TELL ME. ‘Cause it sure looks like you went somewhere, I’m in the street! I saw you.”

“What? Why are you in the street??????!”

“Yep, the garage woke me up, so where are you going?” (In a “THAT’S RIGHT I’M NANCY DREW, MULLAFUGGA!” sort of voice.)

“NOWHERE. I’M IN THE BED… ya know, asleep. Where are YOU?!”

“Huh? I’m in the street. I saw your car?…”

“No, because I’m looking at you from the hall – right now.”

“What? But I saw you leave…”

“No, you must have been dreaming, the garage hasn’t opened. It was somebody else. Get the hell inside, it’s 4 am!”

“*silence*…okay love yewwwww?”

“Get. Inside.”

When I did do the walk of shame into the house, Smith was standing at the door to our bedroom, clearly a victim of having been woken up at an ungodly hour. He had bed fohawk and twisted boxeritus. He also had a smug look on his face, while he put his hand out for me to grab. He lead me to bed whispered these sweet nothings into my ear:

“When I wake up, I’m going to make fun of you about this. Forever. It is your destiny.”

Luckily the story entertains the shiz outta me, so I don’t mind! 😀

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