Last night I was lying in bed dreaming a good dream. Shakira and Jessica Alba where wrestling naked in pudding over who was going to be the first one to pleasure me. My beautiful and understanding wife was doing that thing she does that I want her to do all the time, but she doesnÂ’t do nearly often enough. All of a sudden there was a searing pain in my groin. It felt as if someone had hit me in the nards with a golf ball. I awake to find Clone climbing over me.

Me, “What in the love of god are you doing at… (looks at clock) 2:30 in the morning(?) awake?”

Clone, “Dada, I need drink.”

Me, “That makes two of us buddy. Go get into bed and I’ll get you a glass of water.”

After retrieving the glass of water for Clone, I return to bed. In hopes that my dream will pick up where it left off. Unfortunately I started dreaming about vasectomies. Sometimes life is cruel.

In the morning Clone did not want to get out of bed, and from the state of his room, I can tell that he didnÂ’t go to bed when I told him to. Nope, he must have gotten up and started playing with his toys. Now when I needed him awake, he couldnÂ’t keep his eyes open. He was like a narcoleptic after a long day of heavy drinking. Every and any attempt to wake him up resulted in loud and incessant cryingÂ… until he passed out again. Getting him dressed and ready for the day was like trying to shove a cat into a toilet.

Boopie on the other hand must have found a speedball because he was bouncing all over the house like a crystal meth junkie with electrodes attached to his nards. Boopie's hyperactivity counteracted with CloneÂ’s sleepiness and created a horrible combination of laughing, crying, giggling, yelling and screaming. It wasnÂ’t even 6:30 AM and I wanted to empty a bottle of Jack Daniels. Unfortunately I think Clone drank all of it.

I get to work, and I have never been so happy to be there in my life, even if it was one of my worst days as supervisor. I had a meeting that went horribly bad, two employees about wig out and in giving one feedback they burst into tears because, “I’m going to lose my job!” I don’t know where she got that idea; I never once said anything that would give her the indication that she was on the road to replacement.

When I go to pick up the boys I discover that Clone miraculously recovered from his drunken narcolepsy and played all day. He refused to take a nap. GreatÂ… that means more fun tonight. Sure enough on the ride home the boy fell asleep in the most uncomfortable of positions that only a child can sleep in. Deciding to keep my sanity a while, IÂ’ve let him sleep now for almost an hour. IÂ’m going to have to wake him up soon, but IÂ’m waiting for the food to arrive.

Which reminds, I was going to make dinner tonight, really I was! Unfortunately I kind of left what I was going to make out on the counter this morning when I was getting my lunch made. I walked into the house and was assaulted by the smell of ground beef that has gone rancidÂ… and cat turds. The damn cat must have eaten something that wasnÂ’t fit for feline consumption because itÂ’s arse smelled horrible. It was like a stinky dog fart was bottled, fermented, aged to juicy ripeness and then released in the house. Needless to say there will be no cooking in the house tonight. I have Chinese food on the way.

Now if youÂ’ll excuse me, I need to go bring Clone out of his coma. Only about 24 hours to go.

Posted by: Contagion at 04:36 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 664 words, total size 4 kb.