I am deep, deep in sleep and having a really fun, cute dream. I can’t remember the whole dream anymore, but I remember being in a beautiful forest with some weird, but cute, little dog-like creatures. Anyway, I was having a ball, totally comfortable, I remember waking up very briefly and seeing it was kinda light outside, but I soon slipped back into my fantastic dream.
I’m not sure how much longer I was in slumberland, but I was ruthlessly ripped from my comfort with the horrible screeching of our fire alarms. Not just one, but three of them, the one in my bedroom, the one in my husband’s man cave, and the one in the hallway just outside the kitchen. I jumped out of bed as fast as I could, but my feet were tangled up in the blankets and I nearly crashed into my dresser, but somehow managed to catch myself. I was about to attempt to put on my sandals, but quickly abandoned that idea when I ended up slamming into the door. I burst through the door expecting to see flames, but there is absolutely nothing alarming in my immediate sight.
As I run towards the kitchen thinking to myself did I leave a candle burning? Did I leave the oven or stove on? I’m looking in my kids room’s as I pass, but I don’t see any dangers. As I near the end of the hallway I finally look in front of me and there I see my husband, holding a pan of smoking eggs, and fanning a towel at the smoke alarm.
He looks at me with a cheesy grin on his face and sweetly says, “Oh hey, honey! What are you doing up?” All I can do is stare at him in utter confusion until I’m able to break through the fog just enough to piece together what just took place. My confusion turns to intense irritation and I am now willing him to turn into a pile of ash on the spot.
One by one the smoke alarms turn off and I slowly walk past him, staring at him as if daggers were shooting from my eyes, and go into the kitchen to make myself the first of many cups of coffee for today.