I’m tired. I really wanted my bed tonight. I wanted to get home, open the sliding glass door, curl up on top of my down mattress cover and under my down comferter. I wanted to spoon up next to mi amor and fall asleep watching my TIVO’d Monday Night Football game. After a day full of meetings, decisions, tears, laughter, kickboxing, and singing I wanted my bed. I get home after vocal rehearsal and fill up my large glass of ice water. Take 3 big gulps and make that “AAhhhhhmmmmm” sound that only a large glass of ice water can produce. I drop my jeans in the kitchen and my shirt in the middle of the hallway. I am now a boxer wearing father of 2 toddlers ready to feel the coolness of the other side of the pillow. Yea.
There she was. All 25 pounds of her. Taking up my entire side of the bed. How a monchichi such as herself can take up that much room is beyond me. Yet she did it. She uncooled my cool sheets and comforter that my skin was looking forward to feeling. The was already spooning the object of my affection with no chance of me cutting in. She was tossing and turning more than a salted slug.
I asked H why my #2 was in my place of rest. She said she was having a rough night. My heart did not melt. It wondered how long she would cry when I placed her back in her room with my #1. Because no amount of tears was going to stop this Panamanian Man from his side of the bed. Then she did it.
She popped one eye open like she was reading every essay my mind had just written. She smiled that crooked, drunk, dreamy smile only deep R.E.M. can produce. She whispered “Hi daddy” with all the grace, style, and sound of a 75 year old, smoking lounge singer. Then she shut her lid with no grace whatsoever. It was all I could do not to hop in bed and start the triple spoon with her in the middle. She won.
She owns me. Stick a fork in me.