As I told you last week, I did not book the Publix commercial. And I was somewhat relieved, because that meant that I did not have to drive to Tampa and shoot throughout the night.
I am no longer a night person.
Oh, in college I was a night owl, to be sure. In fact, it was not unusual for me and my college buddies to hit the Waffle House at 1:00 in the A.M. to hoover down some french toast and bacon, extra crisp. And it was equally not unusual for us to go for a run afterward. To, you know, work off the 1500 calories we had just consumed.
The next morning I would awaken just in time to down a pot of coffee and barely make it to my 9:00 class.
It is no wonder that my metabolism revolted against me some time in my 30’s. And now my dad knows why my college grades were fantastic enough to earn me a B.A. in B.S. Lots of questions answered right here, my friends.
Anyhoo. As it happens, Fiddledaddy received a request to work as an extra on the very same Publix commercial, in the bakery department, WEARING A HAIRNET.
So my sweet husband had to make the trek to Tampa tonight to work until the wee hours of the morning. To keep me in the manner I’ve become accustomed.
He doesn’t mind doing extra work, because every so often, HE GETS UPGRADED. Which means more money, residuals, and an extra coffee drink splurge for me when I’m in need. Also, he brings a deck of cards and a set of cutlery so that he and his actor friends can play a rousing game of “Spoons” during the down time.
One of his actor friends even had a “Spoons” trophy fashioned, so that the reigning champ of the month can have custody. We sadly lost custody, and I would dearly love for Fiddledaddy to win it back, because the shelf mantle is not the same without it. Especially since our house is decorated in what I can only describe as “Early Cr**.”
So. When Jensen learned that his daddy would be working all night, I fully expected him to break down into heaving gut wrenching sobs of despair. What with his daddy being the center of his universe and all.
However, Jensen brightened upon hearing the news, “That’s okay Mommy, if Daddy’s not on his side of the bed, then I can just crawl in when I have my bad dream tonight.”
He has evidently already conjured up a bad dream, and I know from a late night overheard discussion with his older sister that it involves him sitting on the front lawn alone in the dark while a UFO with a ghost aboard lands on the street.
Which is just silly because our intrepid homeowners association doesn’t allow parking on the street between the hours of 11 pm and 7 am.
So young Jensen thinks he can take advantage of the empty side of the bed. THIS IS WHERE YOU ARE WRONG, MY FRIEND.
I know from experience that Jensen is a violent sleeper. And he still sports big boy night diapers that don’t always do their job. Just sayin’.
Would it be wrong to booby trap Fiddledaddy’s side of the bed, with say, thumbtacks? If that seems harsh, then I’m not above a little
duct tape velcro to keep baby bear safely ensconced in his own cozy bed.
All’s fair in love and sleep deprivation.