Wednesday, May 25, 2005

I am so ashamed. 

Last night, I attacked my daughter Katie.

She sometimes comes in the middle of the night to get in bed with us. And last night, I woke up in the middle of who knows what dream, thinking that some pint-sized imp was trying to climb into bed with us, and in terror, I pushed her over.

Poor Katie. She cried and cried. I said to Andrea, "It was trying to get us." Once I figured it out, I was appalled, and hugged poor Katie until we were friends again. She was unhurt, you'll be glad to hear.

Andrea said she was just glad I didn't repeat my performance when I dragon-kicked the floor fan in the middle of the night.

Perhaps your 'coon experience induced a crazy dream which unfortunately for her, Katie interrupted. Now that's bad Karma!
I recall a certain midnight, mid-continental attack I waged on a hapless high school driver. From out of a dozing dream, I grabbed the wheel and we went careening onto the shoulder. I felt bad and glad we survived to laugh about it. Give Katie a hug from Mrs. Henderson
Ah yes... I believe it was Missouri, or possibly Kansas. We all nearly died then. A strange night. It's somewhat bracing to spend a boring two hours counting semis and listening to Pink Floyd, and then, suddenly, to almost die.
I think this violent episode is just a symptom of a deeper problem. Perhaps Katie should go live with relatives for a while until you can come to terms with your deep rooted resentment of her.
But what about my deep-seated resentment of floor fans? What is the floor fan to do?
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