The Ultimate Mildly Amusing Adventure

by pjmcbride

Well, unless I go on a ridealong with Nick. Maybe. Anyway…


The first thing you need to know is that I don’t sleep in the nude. Because what if the house caught on fire?

And it should surprise no one that I sometimes neglect to put away my clean laundry, and just live out of the basket until my next days off, when I do the wash again. It should surprise you still less to know that our calico cat Glamour likes to curl up on the warm laundry in the basket when it’s fresh from the dryer.

Do you see where I’m going with this? No?

So last night I popped on a nightshirt (a robin’s-egg blue one with big red roses on it) from the basket, and went through my before-bed rituals: listening to music (Lita Ford’s greatest hits), updating the checkbook (which had also been put off until my days off), paid the water bill (ditto), brushed my teeth, applied lip grease and hand cream, went to bed, and had the usual tiresome dream about being late to work because criminals were trying to break into my house, and my phone wouldn’t work to call 911. Woke up, realized I didn’t even have to go to work today, drank some milk. Rom came in, announced he was tired from working in the yard since dawn and was taking a nap. Supervised tucking the cats into bed with him, got a Coke from the fridge, listened to music (Windham Hill’s greatest hits from 1986). (Kind of the anti-Lita Ford when you think about it.) Realized it was time to get ready to go out, went to the bathroom to wash up. Wondered “What is that scratchy stuff that’s making my chest itch?,” peered down my nightgown, and realized THERE WAS A BIG SPLOTCH OF CAT VOMIT ENCRUSTED ON THE INSIDE OF IT.

I want you to go back and read the previous paragraph again. I did all the things listed, including a full night’s sleep, WITH CAT VOMIT ON THE INSIDE OF MY SHIRT. I SLEPT IN CAT PUKE. I couldn’t have whipped that garment off faster if someone had pointed a gun at me. Well, no one ever has pointed a gun at me and demanded that I disrobe, but you get the idea.

Well, the washer is finished. Now to see if the Tide Stain Release has released the stain from my nightshirt.

You know, I didn’t have to tell you that story. In fact, I thought as I was washing up, I’ll never tell that story to anyone. But I did. You’re welcome.