Wednesday night, my parents and I were watching a movie together. It was just past 7 when my dad stretched out on the couch and started snoring. My mother pestered him to wake up. She said, "If you fall asleep now, you'll be up at 4 tomorrow Morning. If you're up, nobody will be able to sleep in."
Dad replied in sleepy tones, "Huh? I'm quiet in the morning!"
Mom and I laughed with gusto. Maybe he's unaware because he has been operating power tools without earplugs for too many years, but the man has never been quiet in the morning. Never. We're talking like...not ever.
Mom and I volleyed the predicted scenario between fits of laughter:
"You'll stretch audibly as you rise out of bed!"
"You'll stomp caveman-like down the hall!"
"You'll bang every pot in sight as you pour your coffee!"
"You'll SLAM the microwave door as you prepare to heat the coffee!""You'll turn the TV on so loud that we'll look to see if the televisions in our rooms are on!"
Dad, still flirting with the blissful ignorance of sleep, replied, "Oh, you're full of it. It's not like that. I'm going to bed. G'night!"
4:30 the next morning, I was awakened by a blaring newscast and a slammed microwave door—Mom, equally so. Somehow, "I told you so" just didn't seem to cut it.
Last night, as mom and I fluffed the couch pillows and straightened the living room (before retiring to our bedrooms for the evening), I turned the TV volume aaaaaaaall the way down. We exchanged an exaggerated wink and Mom crooned, "There's more than one way to skin a cat!"
3 feet away, Friskey stopped cleaning her face to glare at us.
Yeah, sure...you just go on believing that cats don't understand English.
Fools.
