Saturday, April 12, 2014


                                       
                                            “In The Middle of the NIIIIIIIght”     

     What do you do when you wake up in the night? This time, it was 1:53 a.m., less than three, count’em, three hours after I crawled into the Bad Temper Pedic. It’s my fault for drinking four cups of coffee before noon and a large glass of Arnold Palmer for dinner. Duh. When will I learn? It’s all about avoiding calories and alcohol. Hmm. Life would be so much simpler with calories and alcohol. “Au contraire,” says my inner voice. “Calories are only good if they have lots of protein, no fat, feisty fiber and zero preservatives.” Alcohol wakes me up too, but at least I wake up very happy. Oh, my. What’s a Fifi to do?

     Fortunately, breakfast is my favorite meal, so I take my tray laden with Kashi Autumn Wheat, blueberries, a yellow banana, a jar of peanut butter and a cup of coffee to my woman cave. I have become intimate friends with Early Morning anchors, John Berman and Christine Romans. If it weren’t for sleepless nights, these two would be out of a job, so I’m actually doing something charitable with my insomnia.

     Middle-of-the-night television is quite informative, actually. I’ve learned about how to cure my non-existent back pain by buying some 70-something’s hang-yourself-upside-down invention. I can now buy a curling iron that will build my hair follicles, make my hair shine after 20 years and create curls that would put Shirley Temple to shame, AND it’s only $33.33/per month for three years. If I call immediately, I will get a small bottle of shampoo for red heads. I can watch all the episodes of Bonanza I missed in the 70s, and I can listen to 80s oldies and try to remember which bad blind date I was on when I was divorced. Oh, my. No wonder I prefer sleep.

     The trick is after having breakfast at 2:18 a.m., how do I get to lunch ten hours later with no sleep and no calories? The obvious answer is to work out. This way I can burn many calories and have another breakfast. Working out in my nightgown is tricky though. Sometimes I trip while jogging on the treadmill in my bare feet. The lace on the bottom of the gown is getting nasty, and I fear I will need the upside-down machine soon. Fortunately, it’s dark out. As my treadmill is right in front of the window, passersby might be able to see me bouncing up and down with no make-up. matted tresses and
morning nubs. I figure anyone passing by and looking into my window at 2:28 a.m. deserves a show. No worries.

     Sometimes I entertain myself by looking at what other insomniacs are posting. I have seen everything from nasty jokes to selfies from the 50s. People must be cleaning out their drawers at all hours of the night. How many people keep a stack of “selfies through the years” on their desktops? Pas moi. The only selfie I ever took in the 50s was when I had my Brownie Hawkeye turned the wrong way and I got a photo of my “outie.”

     As I head back to bed at 6:12 (when Mr. Wonderful gets up), I pray that pings, gun shots and car crashes don’t prevent me from falling into a deep slumber. I will just practice my “mind control,” and think peanut butter and bananas.