9:18 a.m. - July 07, 2006
I concentrated on the Reds and Braves, as I saw the Braves (hack, hack) cough up a 7-2 lead in the ninth inning, and the game went into extra innings. Liz went to bed, with the admonition, as always, “Don’t fall asleep down here.”
I had a glass of wine that I poured right after Star Trek (and had not refilled – I was definitely in sipping mode) and I moved from the couch to the love seat. I lay down and started to watch the game.
Gotta stay upright, you fool.
I distinctly remember clicking off the TV, knowing that I needed to get upstairs before it was too late.
Next thing I know I was awakening from a dream. I just opened my eyes and sat up when Liz was downstairs.
“It’s 1:30 in the morning! Did you just wake up?”
I know Liz may have thought, perhaps, when she woke up and I was not in bed, that I had fallen off the internet wagon and was up at 1:30 doing all kinds of gnarly things online.
But no, I was sawing logs on the love seat. And now, my back is reminding me about my nap.
What is about males and television that causes one to fall asleep at a moment’s notice? No matter how much or how little alcohol one consumes, men invariably fall asleep watching television.
Last night, I had 2/3 of a glass of red wine, and I was zonked by 11.
My dad didn’t really fall asleep much in front of the TV, mainly because his work schedule didn’t leave much time for frivolity like TV. He either had to be up early for the first shift, or worked the second shift and slept until 1:00 in the afternoon. So Mom was the one that assumed the ‘fall asleep in front of the TV’ position, but she had a comfy chair. Also, mind you, TV in the 70’s was pretty darn boring after a while. How many times can you watch “Barnaby Jones” without guessing what’s going to happen, anyway?
But now that Dad’s retired, he’s definitely fallen into the trap of sleeping in front of the TV. I think that’s why when he knows we’re coming over to the house, he sits in the garage and reads his westerns. He’ll be awake when the girls come by.
So I do think it is part of the DNA of a male that causes them to move from couch potato to couch zombie.
A big factor is also the furniture itself.
When I moved from my college apartment to my first real apartment, after working at my first real job, I bought my first real couch.
Being in true Smed fashion, I went into the store five minutes before it closed, saw the couch, said I wanted it, and bought it. It was the right color for my apartment (lucky boy!) and was delivered the next day.
That couch was magical. It was dubbed “The People Eating Couch” as any mortal who deigned to lay down on it was doomed to slumber within five minutes, no matter what else was going on.
Heck, you didn’t even have to lie down on it to get its full effect. One year, the Pacers were playing the evil Knicks in the NBA playoffs, and the Pacers were losing by 10 points or so going into the fourth quarter at Madison Square Garden.
Midway through the fourth quarter, I was out. I woke up, and the TV was off. Liz was sitting by me, reading, and I asked her what happened.
“Oh, it was exciting! The Pacers came back and won! It was incredible! I’m surprised you didn’t wake up with my cheering!”
That couch wended its way to our first house in Zionsville. But we decided to re-decorate and it had to go, so it went up to Niece Nurse’s domicile. Right now, it’s in their basement, however, its powers are probably still in full force.
We then had a nice sleeper sofa for our house, which also had that magic power to cause mortal men to fall asleep if you lay down on it, but it was not as powerful as the People Eating Couch.
Meaning it took a full 15 minutes of lying down in front of a sporting event for you to fall asleep. And it does not matter what else is happening. I’ve fallen asleep listening to Black Sabbath albums at full roar whilst on that couch.
Nice, of course, means cushiony and fluffy.
I have two pieces of furniture now that can cast a slumber spell upon me in no time.
And I think they are just as powerful as the old People Eating Couch.
However, I have an antidote.
At times, during weekends, I’ve found myself laying on the couch and drifting away. All of a sudden, I feel a smack, or hear a shriek.
Yep, the kidlets. Kristin always wants to crawl toward the sleeping body, and Katie will not let you sleep. “Don’t close your eyes!” she says.
Unfortunately, they aren’t around at 10:15 at night.
So now I sit here, a bit tired because my sleep was disjointed. My back is a bit sore, because while the love seat is comfy, it’s still not optimal to sleep on.
But the thing that irritates me most is this: I was having a nice dream on the couch, and for the life of me, I can’t remember it!