Sleeping is Dangerous

This one time I was sleeping and...

Ok, wait. Y'all need to know the story of my friend first. When I was in undergrad I became fast friends with Sue. Her name's not really Sue, but I don't want to use her name without permission. Anyway, Sue was notorious for sleeping in until the very last second....usually the second after the last second. She'd roll out of bed, grab a Diet Coke and stroll out the door in scrub pants and a tank for class. It was my job to wake her butt up in time for class we had together one semester. Maybe a history class? I can't even remember, just that it was Freshman year.

I walk across the hall, bookbag slung across my shoulder, boy scout ready for class....book, notebooks, pencils, pens, band-aids, tape, stapler. I was a total nerd. I knock on Sue's door. No answer. Knock again. No answer. Knock again. Hear the loudest whomp of a body hitting the floor on the other side of the door. I'm pretty sure that Sue has up and had a heart attack at the ripe old age of 19 and I'm contemplating calling 911. Until I hear a weird scraping sound and the door opens. Turns out there wasn't a heart attack and she didn't fall out of bed. She woke up and her leg was asleep from the hip down, so when she stood up she promptly fell over. I don't think I had ever laughed so hard once I knew she was ok.

This one time I was sleeping and...

I got up to pee. One second I had one foot on the floor and the next second I was on the floor. My leg was asleep and I fell over like I'd been cow-tipped. I ended up with one leg in my trash can, wedged perfectly between the bed frame from hell (it kept my ankles bruised for many years) and the sharp corner of the dresser.

I laid there and laughed until I cried. Touche, Sue, touche.

This is my first week with Mama Kat.