I hate naps
I don’t usually take naps. On those lazy weekend days when the rest of the family heads to their beds to take an afternoon siesta, I usually try to get caught up on my house chores. Of course, some days I just watch football.
This past Sunday, I was tired. I’d been up ’til the wee hours of the morning the night before. So when J and the kids headed for their naps, I headed for the hammock. The hammock is a wonderful thing. However, on a sunny day in Florida it can get rather hot. Lying there in a fuzzy-headed nap-induced daze, I thought that unbuttoning my shirt would be a good idea to cool off.
I woke up about a half hour later with a bright red sunburn on my belly.
I hate naps.
Still feeling disoriented from the sleep, I stumbled inside and sacked out on the bed.
Half an hour (or so) later, C was waking me up. “Hey! Wake up! Wake up or I’m going to call the police!”
“Wake up! No being lazy! I’m going to call the police!”
Okay, now that was just uncalled for. I rolled over, wincing as my belly hit the mattress, preparing my sternest fatherly glare. I never got to it, though. J interrupted me. “He didn’t take a nap. We were watching a show on TV about ‘lazytown’ where everyone was being lazy. They called the police to get everyone to stop being lazy and get up.”
Grumble, growl, grumble.
“Yeah! We’re not in lazytown! Get up! I’m going to call the police!”
I hate naps.