I know what you're thinking...my life is warped enough that I shouldn't need to hijack someone else's story for my own cheap amusement but, to quote our favorite spinach-eating sailor who was gamely quoting scripture, "I yam what I yam." At my high points and my low, I can always turn to Popeye for guidance and inspiration.
I'm grateful that my friend Geri doesn't blog because the five faithful readers that I currently have would immediately declare mutiny and set sail upon the sea of stories spun by my talented pal. I am not even remotely taking credit for this story, though I wish I could. The Seinfeld episode where poor Kramer, lacking foresight, sells his life-stories to J. Peterman taught me a valuable lesson about copyright infringement pertaining to personal anecdotes.
A poor sleeper on a regular night, Geri reported that a recent incident drove any hope of dreamland away as she strained her ears to decipher the demonic voice that infiltrated the darkness of her bedroom. The words,"Kill you, Geri," wound their way to my tired friend who was immediately stricken, paralyzed with fear. When her hammering heartbeat resumed its normal pace, Geri began the process of reasoning her worries away. Employing Dickens, she decided there was more "gravy than grave" to the haunting voice that invaded her bedchambers and soon settled into the complicated process of snoozing.
"Kill you, Geri," jolted her awake again. Chilled with fear, my friend moved slowly across her room to seek the strong solace of her husband who was enjoying some late-night television downstairs. He courageously cleared their room of drawer-dwelling demons, under-the-bed boogie-men and closet corpses before he effortlessly fell asleep. Sleep continued to evade his wife. "Kill you, Geri," the voice whispered. Geri whimpered. Greg wheezed.
Dawn was long in arriving. Exhausted, Geri didn't hear the alarm clock go off. Checking the time, she noticed something strange. Suddenly, an automated voice spoke, "Change batteries." Relief washed over her as she realized that she hadn't actually been slated for certain death. Responding to her account, Geri's friends celebrated her good-fortune while lamenting her lack of hearing ability. I was particularly grateful because, as usual, nothing interesting had happened to me today and my semi-loyal fan-base of five was wavering. This would be my sacrificial offering to sooth the demands of fickle blog followers.
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