In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning . . .
Hello 3:00 a.m.
Long time no see.
Is it rude of me to say that I haven’t particularly missed you?
I mean, I thought we had an understanding. You would only come to visit when invited, such as during departures for family road trips in the wee hours of the morning, and only then if you’re packing half a dozen apple fritters and a couple of cups of strong java.
Now, all of a sudden, you pop in unexpectedly and, as uncivil as it sounds, I have to say, I like your sisters, 6:00 a.m. and even 5:00 a.m., a heck of a lot better.
They’re not nearly as intrusive and demanding.
They know how to ease into a conversation unlike you who bursts in with a plethora of loud, plaguing questions from how I’m dealing with unfulfilled life goals to where my 18-year-old may be sleeping at this moment to how I could even have thought about going to bed with a sink full of dirty dishes left over from the dinner we hosted with friends a few hours ago.
And, really, I fail to see how those things are any of your concern.
Tell you what, I’m up now, thank you for that, and the chances of me getting back to sleep are slim to none, so how ‘bout we call it a day?
Or should I say, call it day?
I have some things to take care of right now, but I have a swell idea. I think I’ll pop in to say hello to you at noon, smack dab in the middle of your REM sleep, at which point I’ll question you about your odd aversion to the sun and your even odder affinity with peeping Toms, boogie men, werewolves and the like.
We’ll see just how much you welcome my company.