Wrong Place, Wrong Time

There has been some discussion of my sleep habits on the internet lately. In an effort to expand on the issue, my wife and I will both be telling the same story today. I will tell it from my perspective, and she will tell her side. You, the reader, will have the task of deciding who's side you can relate to the most. I will understand if, due to sympathy for her, you think I'm a schmuck. That seems to be the way these things go. I only ask that you consider my side.

I used to work nights. I would get off around 3:00 in the A.M. despite my near sainthood, I had a tendency to drink 2 to 12 beers with my work associates after work. Keep in mind that this was not inconsiderate, or immature behavior for a married father of two; but rather a display of concern for my coworkers. I would hate to think that they might be sitting alone drinking. I only did this 4 or 5 nights a week, and I was always home by noon.

On one occasion, I had consumed a little too much alcohol. I came home, an fell into a deep sleep cuddled against my wife. I was cold that night, so I was spooned tight against her in an effort to capture some of her body heat. I really love Mrs. Denotsko, and I know that she loves me. This was my happy place.

As I slept the sleep of the truly sleepy sleeper, I began to dream the dreams of the drunk. What does every drunk really want? McDonald's french fries. So here I was, dreaming of french fries. I was standing in line at McD's, waiting for my food. They taste so good when I finally get them. MMmmmmm.

In my dream I am engaged in normal waking activities like waiting, eating, drinking long, cold drinks from my soda, and eventually sensing that my bladder was full. I made my way to the bathroom. Once inside, I saw the most amazing thing. I saw a tree rising through the roof, creating a huge canopy over the open ceiling. I could make out little flashes of blue through the leaves as a gentle wind sighed past. There were no sinks or toilets or urinals; just this magnificent tree in the center of the room. All the other men in the room were contentedly pissing on the tree. It was like what urinals in heaven must be like. Every man would rather piss on living vegetation than cold porcelain.

As I approached the tree to give it a little bit of life sustaining urine, I saw that all the guys were leering at me. I saw frightening lust in their eyes, and I was scared. Had my heaven spun into a wild hell of homosexuals fighting for position to see my penis as I stood next to the tree? They all craned their necks in an effort to see what I was packing. I had no choice but to lean forward against the tree in an effort to shield my package from their unmoving gaze. I leaned in until my chest rested on the tree, and my cupped hands blocked their vision. Something inside told me to find another latrine, but I really had to go.

As I stood there feeling the sharp, unforgiving bark of the tree dig into the soft skin of my face and chest, I couldn't piss. I could feel the walls of my bladder stretching to the point of explosion, but could not open the valve. The fags were watching me too closely. I was.....well....pee shy. I closed my eyes and concentrated on waterfalls, sprinklers, dripping faucets....

Finally, relief came. I could feel my bladder start to relax, and in my head, the dripping faucet exploded into a busted water main. It flooded my mind with visions of sailboats on the open seas, mermaids swimming through an ocean of my urine smiling at me in its warm embrace.

I felt my jaw being violently forced sideways. The fags were attacking me. They were pounding me for my secretive lack of a display. They punched me in the face repeatedly while screaming "What the fuck are you doing?! You stupid mother fucker!"

Why was this happening to me? All I wanted was to piss in peace. I felt the repeated blows to my skull and could do nothing, still trying to protect my penis from observation. I pressed harder against the tree. Still they attacked without mercy.

I was pulled from my slumber by Mrs. Denotsko's elbow crushing into my nose. What was this? Had she joined the navy? Rarely had I heard such language come from here lips. Was there a burglar? Was the house on fire?

"What the hell is your problem? Your pissing on my back you bastard!"

"No I'm not! Get the fuck out of the bathroom! Stop hitting me!"

I felt her grasp my arm and force my hand down under the blanket. I felt the warm ocean that I had seen the mermaids frolicking in. Had I really wet the bed?

BAMMM! Another elbow hit my face. Another. I was still pissing. In my sleep, a kickstand had extended beneath me and it was now shooting a hot yellow stream up my wife's back as she shoved me from the bed.

Once on the floor, the flood subsided and cold reality set in. I was attacked for a simple misunderstanding. Could my wife really be that harsh and unforgiving over such a small thing? It could happen to anyone.

I spent many a night alone for my misstep. Eventually the amnesia of time took hold, and she forgave me; but sometimes I think she's watching me while I sleep.

She's just waiting for another chance to beat me up.