Sweet Dreams

All right, so I watch too many movies. That much we already know. We already know, too, that many of the movies I watch really suck. We know they suck because they are Lifetime movies.
Any wonder, then, that when I go to sleep at night &#151 or, rather, I should say go to bed, because quite often sleep doesn’t immediately follow &#151 my mind starts to wander like a toddler in a toy store, and I start fabricating ridiculous scenarios that don’t do anything for my ability to drift off to sleep?
I’ll be lying in bed, comfortable at last &#151 hair secured in a soft ponytail holder atop my head so my neck doesn’t feel claustrophobic, the need to pee taken care of [that issue finally tended to only after trying to convince myself, during a first attempt to nestle into bed for sleep, that I didn’t really have to go, but failing and kicking the covers off to run to the bathroom], all email sent, the living room pillows fluffed up &#151 when all of a sudden I’ll start to worry.
When I hear the burglars sneaking into the apartment later tonight, I’m not going to be able to call them quickly enough on the pink rotary phone in this bedroom. And even if I could call on it quickly, they would certainly hear that distinct rotary sound as the dial returns to its original position. And then there’s the huge possibility that they will have cut the phone lines entirely, and I won’t be able to use the phone anyway. So I’d better get my cell phone and leave it on the nightstand so I can call no matter what. And I’d better make sure I turn the keypad tone down so they don’t hear me pressing 9-1-1. Or do I have to even press that? Don’t I have a one-touch number pre-programmed into it in case of emergency?
Or maybe I should just pretend to be asleep and let them take whatever they want to take. What would Nancy McKeon do? What about Jennie Garth? Or Veronica Hamel? Would they just lie in bed like a wimp? Wouldn’t they fight off the intruders? What if the burglar looks like Steven Bauer from “Thief of Hearts”? Do I try to seduce him so he doesn’t take our stuff, even though I’m wearing men’s boxer shorts and an old tank top and I look like Pebbles Flintstone in her baby days and not the hot Pebbles Flintstone in those bad newer cartoons when she and BamBam were teenagers?
So I get the cell phone, prepare it for the event that I’ve built up in my mind, and lie awake, clutch my two stuffed moose, stare up through the skylight, obsessively check to make sure my cell phone is in working order, and wait for Steven Bauer to cut my phone lines.
The next morning, four hours later, the sheets and covers are kicked off to one side, if not completely … and I’m really pissed because Steven didn’t wake me up to kiss me tenderly before leaving … but happy because he didn’t steal anything.