The alarm clock shrilled through the air at 6 a.m. In Patrick’s dream, he jumped involuntarily off the thirty-foot cliff in shock.
Is this noise in my dream?
Struggling to regain consciousness before he hit the serrated rocks below, his one eyelid that was not squished into the pillow managed to force itself open wide enough to see what was going on.
Patrick’s retina began to send information to his thousands of cerebral neurons that his wife, Dorothy, was getting up! In shock, his pupil enlarged in the darkness to zoom in on the clock. Shifting his body quietly sideways until the other eyelid opened, both waited in tandem to witness the astonishing scenario unfold.
On went the brand new size 16 sweats; back went the hair into the scrunchie. On went the motor of the walking machine; flip flap went the fat on the insides of Dorothy’s thighs. Dust flew abundantly in all directions.
True to Patrick’s inner predictions, the gasping and wheezing began after approximately one minute, and it wasn’t from the inhalation of the dust clouds.
“One tenth of a mile! YES!” She turned the dial and limped to the shower. Patrick rolled over to warm up her side of the bed, certain that she would fall back in after her quest for success. His assumptions were proven wrong but he didn’t realize it. He was asleep again, climbing back up the cliff face to Charlie’s Angels (clad in black leather) and ready to do some serious damage to the chasing cows that had interrupted his (ahem) spy mission.
“Rise and shine!” Dorothy stood, smiling, behind a breakfast tray of food she had obviously taken quite some time to prepare. Patrick eyed her suspiciously. She was wearing his favorite cleavage-revealing blouse and had even put on some make-up. Eternity perfume wafted through the air.
“Where did my wife go?”
“Oh, there you are.” He dared not say another word to spoil whatever it was that was making her act so fabulously charming, and thus restrained himself from asking what the occasion was. He knew it wasn’t anyone’s birthday, and their anniversary wasn’t until the summer . . . sometime . . . so he was safe there. She sat on the bed beside him, rubbing his arm affectionately. He withheld the idea of a possible rendezvous in the bed later on. Some things were just too dangerous to assume.
“I’ve had my quiet time; I journaled, worshipped, even did some intercession! Then, I missed your company, so I decided to make you some breakfast.” Her suspect gooey beam returned. “I’m off to wake up the kids. You take your time; go back to sleep if you like. I’ll take care of everything.”
As she softly closed the door, peeking around it once more to send a seductive smile his way, he puzzled over why she hadn’t given him the usual “get ready for work” countdown, and then it hit him.
New Year’s Day. NO WONDER!
Patrick Dunne swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed his hands together in delighted anticipation. He planned on making the absolute most of the remaining few hours of heaven . . . before his wife gave up on her new resolutions and returned to normal.