Sunday Sleeping

I’m a big fan of sleeping. Many days it’s the only time someone isn’t talking to me or I’m not working. Two things I’m not as big a fan of.

It’s why I like Sunday’s. I still have to go to work and people are still going to talk to me but I get to do it two hours later than usual. So what does that mean, boys and girls? That’s right! I get to sleep an extra two hours. You’re so exceptional and grasp simple concepts so quickly.

It’s not that I sleep all the time. Sometimes I like to get up, sit a spell on my front lawn, get out the old sound system and crank up Satan’s Sunday Top Twenty on 66.6 WARM on your FM dial as the goers to the church at the top of the street filter down to enjoy their Sunday.

You’d think being christian and all they’d have a more friendly countenance as they pass a man just sitting on his lawn enjoying his personal freedoms. But it’s weird they don’t seem to enjoy Beelz’ bouncing beats much.

Other times I do small things around the yard before it gets so hot sweat falling off your body is so intense it’s used as a sprinkler for the lawn. I don’t do the loud work because, even though by law I can, if I like to sleep in a little I’m damn sure someone else has discovered that. But I have met a few of my neighbors so let’s just say the jury is out. So I do silent prep work, move things that have to be moved, prune things that have to be pruned, pick up pruning remnants because I was stupid enough to start pruning.

So it’s my amazingly polite Zen gardening approach to being a good neighbor that made what happened last Sunday so disturbing to me. I was sleeping, I could feel the warmth of the day just cracking open. I roll over and start to drift off again.

“Tia.”

Am I dreaming? That seems a little loud for one of my dreams.

“Tia. Tia. Tia.”

The last Tia I knew was a nurse for my mother.

“TiaTiaTiaTiaTia.”

It’s a constant barrage of the name. If I were Tia I’d have answered by now. I get pissed when people say my name twice.

“Tia. Tia. Tia. TIA!”

Aww, come on. This is one of my sleep days. Well, it was going to be.

“Tia. Tia.” Maybe Tia finally answered. “Tia. Tia. Tia. Tia. Tia.”

Is this bitch deaf?

I know the kid who lives in the house is the one doing the beckoning. Her age is somewhere within the range of 2 and, ah, up. What I also know is that her parents don’t let her out of their sight.

“Tia. Tia. Tia. TiaTiaTiaTiaTia. TIA!”

So I know damn straight they can hear that shit. Is this a case of ‘look how adorable my kid is?’ syndrome? Because, listen, if you’re afflicted with this awful disease (which also comes in a grandkids version), trust me when I say, we hope you die.

Your kid is nothing more than an annoying hunk of all your worst qualities. So while you’re standing there engorged in parenthood while your hatchling runs around a store knocking over shit and kicking an old lady in the shin or, in my case,

“Tia. Tia. Tia. Tia. Tia.”

Just know everyone else in the vicinity hates you. To all these persons they hate, in numerical order, you then Hitler then the guy who invented peanut butter and jelly in the same jar.

If you think I’m exaggerating about the duration or consistency of this little mites call and no response, well then, you made my list. You’re just above peanut butter guy.

“Tia. Tia. Tia.”

“Hey, Tia!” I respond. “Answer her.”

And then silence. A shifting breeze, a distant vehicle leisurely driving, but no one screaming after someone whose name I’ve seemed to have forgotten.

And it’s a good thing because I’d already started planning. I have friends with all manner of power tools. Loud ones, scary ones, ones that frighten kids. And if that name calling went on for much longer, well, let’s just say, I was going to really crank next Sunday so all my noisy friends will be able to hear the latest of Satan’s Sunday’s Top Twenty on 66.6 WARM on your FM dial.

And I’d have them stay on while I went to work and party. I was even going to invent a new game they would play while I was at work. It’s a simple game and one you may find entertaining also. It’s the Name Game. How you play is every five seconds until the person answers you call their name. I would be the first to go because I invented the damn game. So the game would have gone something like this.

“Chris. Chris. Chris. Chris. Chris. Chris. Chris. Chris. Chris. Chris. Chris. Chris.”

From 9:30 when I left for work until 4:30 (or later) when I got home.

But I didn’t have to do that. But I’m still going to mow the lawn the next time they have a few people over for a bar-b-que.

Seems to be the least I can do.

2 responses to “Sunday Sleeping

  1. Satan has great taste in tunes.

  2. 😈 Incoming!

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