Momnesia

Desperado... Why Don't You Come to Your Senses?

AUGUSTA, GA. - It was all over. El hombre malo was dead. Antonio Banderas (circa “Desperado”) folded me in his arms and leaned in for passionate kiss.

Then the air was filled with the crash of breaking glass. Shards pricked my feet and legs. I screamed a long and keening shriek of fright.

By the door, two dark shapes loomed over the bed. Oh, my god: a break-in! Can I barrel through them, grab the baby and get out before we get hurt?

“It’s okay, honey!” my husband said, as he shot up in bed.
What? Where’s Antonio?
The dark human forms by the doorway disappeared.
“It’s okay,” he soothed.
Uh, no it’s not. Antonio’s missing. And what the hell is going on?

I sat up halfway, while he rubbed my shoulder.
“What happened?” I asked, shaking with fear… and disappointment. Dangit, Antonio!
“The glass bulb from the ceiling fan fell out and shattered,” he answered. “Are you okay?”
“Uh, I think so,” I said, sitting up shakily.
“Don’t move.”

He picked up one of his grandfather’s antique golf clubs and banged on the ceiling.
“What are you doing? Trying to bring down the rest of the fan?”
“No. Our neighbors…” he trailed off.
“What?”
“They were having sex.”

Our neighbor is a great lady. But she and her boyfriend are quite the enthusiastic lovers. Usually it wakes me up. This time, I had some action of my own going on. But Scott, alone while I gallivanted through rural Mexico with El Mariachi, had been wide awake when the sky fell at 3 a.m.

I started to laugh, the shakes wearing off.
“That or bowling while moving furniture,” Scott grinned.

We stripped the blankets off the bed and swept up the glass before crawling back into bed.

“Good night, honey,” Scott said.
“Buenos Noches, mi amor,” I grinned, and drifted back to sleep.