The Man of My Dreams

While I was managing apartments, I would often wake up to random noises outside: car alarms, acts of domestic violence, possums attacking escaped house cats, gunshots...
You know. The usual.

One night, I woke with a start to the sound of a fight right outside of our window. Wayne would often help me with security on the grounds at night, so I shook him awake.

"Wayne! There's a fight outside!"

To which he responds though groggy, half-closed eyes sounding something like THIS:



And then he promptly rolled over and attempted to return to sleep, undaunted by my frantic plea for help.

Now, baffled and frustrated, I try to rouse him again, this time with more urgency. "WAYNE! There's a FIGHT! Please HELP!"

Again, my response from Wayne is this garbled, cryptic language I cannot decipher.

At this point, I am downright MAD! My blood is pumping, adrenalin coursing through my veins, huffing and puffing. "What good are you, anyway?!?" I say in one final, desperate attempt at ticking him off enough that he might finally emerge from his beauty sleep and kick some a** (or, preferably, call the cops and let them kick all the booty.)

It didn't work. Wayne snoozed on.

Maybe there is something to be said about being deaf. At least you can be assured of getting a good night's sleep...

Even when your wife is dreaming that there is a brutal fight ensuing beneath your bedroom window...

And especially when you are happily slumbering in the magical dream scape known as "Backwards Land," where you have apparently been learning the local dialect.