In The Mansion Boudoir With The Stir-Crazy Hillbillies

Times are tough here in Hillmomba. With his recreational outlets closed, Farmer H is crazier than usual. It seems to have invaded his dreams. Get a load of THIS!

FARMER H IS PRETTY SURE I'M TRYING TO KILL HIM!

Heh, heh! What's bad for the goose is bad for the gander. Maybe it's his guilty subconscious talking to him in his sleep. When I returned to bed from a bathroom trip, and he was getting up for one...Farmer H broke the silence of the dark, and said,

"Whew! I was having a dream that you was trying to kill me. You and your boyfriend. You was hittin' me in the head with a HAMMER! We was over by the UPS Store and Little Caesar's. I grabbed you by the arm, and ran you down to the police station. Once we got there, I tried to tell them that you were trying to kill me, but YOU TOLD THEM I WAS TRYING TO KILL YOU!"

"Well, if you made me run to the police station, you were OBVIOUSLY trying to kill me!"

"YOU were killing ME! With a HAMMER!"

Farmer H went on to do his business while I made myself comfortable in the marital bed. He's a flopper, that Farmer H. Like a jolly good fellow being tossed in a blanket. He jounces me out of my comfortable position. If we tried that wine glass test on a mattress, it would shatter against the ceiling as Farmer H flopped on his side. He has also been waking me up lately, shaking the entire bed like he's having convulsions. I mentioned that to him.

"Yeah. Sometimes I wake myself up doing that. Maybe I AM having convulsions."

Anyhoo...I'd just gotten back to sleep. Suddenly, I was vaulted about three inches off the mattress by one of Farmer H's flipping flops.

I SO wanted to mutter, "Where's my hammer?"

For the sake of a sleep-stealing argument, I let it go...