In fact, I’m fairly certain that the word “cherubic” has been used to describe my status when I’m off visiting Dream Land. Perhaps it’s because this is the only time all day when I’m not running my mouth and causing trouble.
Of course, you have to factor in that anyone watching me sleep was most likely someone who shared a bed with me and, therefore, already pretty smitten.
So maybe there was some bias involved.
Today, however, I learned the hard way that not everyone thinks I’m angelic when I slumber.
“What the Hell?” I shouted when I awoke suddenly to the pain of something sharp poking me in my leg.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” The Devil declared with some anger in his voice.
I looked up to discover that he was standing over me, sharply dressed as always in an impeccably tailored suit. This time, however, he held his pitchfork in his left hand and it was extended, mere inches, from my leg.
The devilish grin on his handsome face assured me that the pain that had awakened me from a most pleasant dream was caused by the pitchfork needling my skin.
“What the @#$% are you doing?” I demanded as I slowly sat up on the couch. “Get that thing away from me. This is the kind of $%^& that will give me nightmares for ages.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t fall asleep on the couch in the middle of the day when you know an evil being with a pitchfork is scheduled to visit,” Lucifer countered.
I looked around to get my bearings. I was definitely on the couch in my living room and the afternoon sun shone brightly through the windows.
“I’ve only been here fifteen minutes,” The Prince of Darkness informed me as he tapped his pitchfork on the hardwood floor. “I got tired of listening to you snore and mumble incoherently so I gave you a good prod.”
He tilted the pitchfork so it leaned towards me. I instinctively wiggled backwards to put some distance between my body and the weapon.
“You couldn’t just wake me in a less threatening manner?” I queried as I took another sip of iced tea.
“I tried, but you were sleeping like the dead,” Satan responded. “And trust me, that is a reference I can accurately make.”
He snapped his fingers and the pitchfork vanished and then materialized in its usual resting place in the corner of the room. Then he sat down on his end of the couch, but not before making a big play of wiping it off with his silk handkerchief.
He could be such a dandy at times.
“I didn’t realize I was so out of it,” I offered apologetically.
“I take it you’re overdoing it again with the exercise,” The Devil correctly surmised.
“You might say that,” I confessed and finished off the Snapple. “I put in 25,000 steps yesterday and then went for a 5 mile run this morning. I remember eating breakfast, but after that, it’s all a blank.”
“True, but at least I’ll be able to save money on a smaller casket,” I quipped.
The Prince of Darkness rolled his eyes and reached for a Snapple.
I did my best to stifle a yawn, but it was no use. I was still incredibly exhausted.
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