The Sleepwalking Dead
The other morning I climbed out of bed to use the bathroom and there on the toilet tank was a neatly folded dress shirt.
"Huh," I thought. "Wonder what Mrs. Tater left this here for?"
When I returned to bed, I noticed both my closet doors were standing wide open.
"Huh," I thought. "I must have forgotten to close them when I got dressed for work the day before."
I didn't think much more about it until later, when Mrs. Tater asked, "So what were you looking for in the closet?"
"Last night. I woke up in the dark and you were leaning way over and looking in the closet. Then you got up and went to the bathroom. When you came back to bed, I said, 'Aren't you going to close the closet doors?' and you said, 'The closet doors. That's a good question.' Then you went back to sleep."
I don't think I went "back to sleep," I think I was never awake.
I have no record of sleepwalking, so that makes this adventure kind of creepy. So I reviewed the events of the previous evening:
I stopped at the brewpub on the way home from work and had two Trippels, a high-alcohol Belgian-style beer. Then I came home and had a Lagunitas Brown Shugga, another high ABV beer, which I used to chase down a shot of Seagram's, and then I staggered to bed.
Nope, nothing unusual there.
I guess the cause of my sleepwalking/shirt-folding will remain a mystery.
I told this story at the office and one guy said he had a roommate who, while sleepwalking, pissed on the TV and then hit the "on" button to "flush."
Obviously, that's a better somnambulism story than mine, and I'd wager many of you have better ones too. Put 'em here.
To suggest a diversion idea or leave Tater a fan letter, you can reach him by email.
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