On Sunday night, I was sleeping soundly in my bed, when I was awoken by a loud crash.
“A burglar?” I thought. “Great. Now I have to dive out of this second story window. Why didn’t I wear cute pajamas to bed? Why am I wearing these ten-year-old ratty shorts? I really need to get some nicer pajamas, in case of emergencies like this. Oh wait. What am I talking about? There’s a burglar!”
I sat up, my heart pounding. Batman came running in to see what was going on. Coleman, in a voice that sounded like he had just woken from a coma, started rambling off sleepy apologies.
“What is happening?!” I asked, panicked.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“Why are you sorry?” I asked.
I got up and turned on the light to find glass all over the floor. He had knocked over a drinking glass and, upon further investigation, I found that it had shattered not only in front of the nightstand, but also allllll over our freaking room. Teeny tiny shards of glass.
“How did you hit it? Were you awake?” I asked him.
“Well, no…” he answered. “I… well, I was having a dream that I was throwing a cupcake party. And in my dream, I was waving my arms all around. But, I guess it wasn’t just in my dream, because I knocked the glass off the nightstand.”
“A cupcake–? Waving your arm–? Ugh. Where do I begin?!”