Voices of The Village People: Ingrid Ross’ bedtime antics.

We have some talent in this Village of ours.

Ingrid Ross’s hilarious and relatable piece about her bed companions and night time activity, loaded earlier this year, had us all snorting tea through our noses.

You can read more of her fabulous writing by favoriting her blog,playdatesandpinotnoir.wordpress.com

Highly recommended!

Enjoy.

” I woke at 2am and couldn’t move. My 8 year old was lying on my right arm, with enough space on the other side of my king size bed, for 12 refugees.
My left leg was hot and weighted down by a sand bag of a cat. I gave her a light kick, but she didn’t care, she just went on lying there all hot and heavy. Not quite the h&h I had in mind.
So I just lay there too. Motionless. The only thing stopping me from staring at the light fitting on the ceiling for another 27 minutes was my insatiable thirst. Apparently my liver had been sending up flares into my mouth since 11pm.
I rolled over for some water. I remembered taking some to bed, like I do every night. Like all sensible people post 40 do.
Especially after a birthday celebration.
Right arm and left leg still immobilized by my tired assed little best friend and that thing that jumped over the wall one night and moved into our home. I yanked said arm and leg free as much as to make a statement.
No one moved.
No one cared.
Still couldn’t reach my water. Why?
Apparently I’d forgotten about my post forty – 47 pillows that I now sleep with. One at my back, front and between my legs and knees to square out my hips for more comfort. One also thrown in for somma. I threw three of them across the room and one at the cat.
I found the water.
Apparently I was expecting a fire to breakout in the night. Or maybe I envisioned rescuing a baby elephant. One that had fallen into a giant pot hole and my job was to pour water on it while a team of nature conservationists spent 4 hours digging the poor little fella out?
That’s right, no water glass, just a 5l bottle of water. The kind you buy in bulk from macro and they crane it to your car for you.
I craned water to my mouth, forgetting the newly fitted night plate.
Ok all you 30 something’s. Before you start sniggering let me point out a few truths. Tension causes grinding. Grinding leads to sleepless nights. Sleepless nights leads to wrinkles… must I go on?
Besides, 10 years from now when you have kids in your bed and real bills to pay, you’re going to be picking teeth up off your pillow.
Ingrid has graduated to a night plate.
Ingrid is smart.
Be like Ingrid.
Back to the water, as it cascades down my front and drenches the bed.
So as a first time night plate wearer I wasn’t quite aware of the art to taking them out. Water and spit everywhere. Thank God I sleep alone. (Well kind of). There I was at 2.15am yanking at this thing in my mouth which had become one with my teeth.
Really? How?
Dear God? I thought… this can’t be real and I tossed the night plate down on the sideboard.
By now the Aircon has turned my wet pjs into tiny little icicles, just about where my boobs used to be.
I wondered what the time was.
All out of breath and dripping wet I reached for my phone. Do you think I could see the time? No of course not… I had to find my glasses first. They’d gone flying off the sideboard with one of the pillows.
I just sat there in silence for a minute. By now my child’s head had taken possession of my last remaining pillow. I just stared down at her like I’d woken up in Poland with one kidney.
I rolled her off like a sack of potatoes.
I want to sleep like that, I thought. Please God enable me without schedule 5 drugs that I have to re-script on the pretense of “leaving them in France”.
Suddenly I started to giggle. What the actual fuck had just happened?
How did I get here?
Forty-seven. Blind. One fat cat, a child in my bed and a super sexy night-plate.
Oh well, at least I still have all my teeth and a sense of humour.
And aircon.
Booyah bitches.”

2 Comments

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

Share This

Copy Link to Clipboard

Copy