Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Going To Sleep Angry Doesn't Count If I Don't Let You Sleep

I'm a notorious for spending the first two hours of "bedtime" starring at the ceiling and bombarding a weary Pilot with insane questions that make is head hurt so much that I can hear it cracking under the strain. The Pilot, as most Pilot's, have a way of thinking in the Here and Now of Reality and it's hard for them to stretch the imagination into possible things that are pretty much impossible.

My favorite thing to ask in the wee hours of the night is "What if..." and follow it with insanity. Sometimes The Pilot bites but most times he just lays there silently wishing that I'd shut up and fall asleep and despite the fact that he doesn't answer my question I answer it for him.

Last night I decided that we were going to explore what it would be like if we were Billionaires. Luckily this idea intrigued The Pilot enough that he actively participated in this fantasy:

The Pilot: If I were a Billionaire each room in my house would be different. I'd have a trampoline room, a Velcro Room, a Guitar room...

Me: That'd be awesome! I'd have one room where the floor was just packed with a thousand baby bunnies and you'd walk on them because they are the floor.

The Pilot: Wait..what?

Me: And it'd be the Butlers job that every day to replace the dead baby bunnies with live ones so my floor stays an even, fuzzy temperature.

The Pilot: I'd never go in that room.

Me: You don't have permission to go into my baby bunny room.

The Pilot: I'd have Megan Fox as my personal assistant.

Me: I'd have a secret lab in the basement with a thousand Scientists and they will turn Megan Fox's room into a floor that is made of a billion tips of needles filled with AIDS and then she will catch it and die. And then you would be banned from having assistants ever. Except maybe you can have Steve Buscemi. I'd be OK with that.

The Pilot: I don't want to play this game anymore.

Usually these conversations end with him threatening to disappear to sleep on the couch. I then proclaim that any and all blankets and pillows belong in the bedroom and cannot leave into the living room or else they will explode and he gives up his nonsense and reluctantly stays in bed hoping that I don't voice another crazy opinion.

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