Monday, February 25, 2013
Dave shook me awake in the dark wee hours this morning. He was sitting up in bed, merely a silhouette.
"We've had a little explosion," he said, unfurling his right hand for emphasis like a Roman candle.
I was instantly awake. When it's 1:30 in the morning and someone says "explosion," you pay attention.
"Do you remember her noodles?" Dave said, gesturing at the dog, who was lying between us -- also wide awake now and wagging her tail in happy expectation of going outside for a walk.
I said "Yeah..." even though I didn't. Noodles? Did we buy noodles for the dog? And then I thought, maybe he's trying to tell me the dog exploded. Maybe she'd been sick, or made a mess in the house.
But no, he said, it wasn't that.
"I don't understand," I said. "Did she get hold of the package?"
"Maybe," he said.
I looked at him, increasingly certain that this entire conversation was not reality-based. "Are they on the floor?"
"Maybe one or two," he said. "Just pick them up."
Then he glanced at the clock and said, "Yeah, it's only 1:30." And he lay back down and was soon snoring again. The dog was soon snoring too.
I, however, was awake and laughing helplessly, as quietly as I could. Noodle explosion?
(Photo: Uncle Tom's Cabin on Wandsworth Road, near Vauxhall.)