I slept restlessly for 10-and-a-half hours on Sunday night. The cat jumped on my face several times and my girlfriend was snoring. I don’t know what time I finally fell asleep but I woke up bleary eyed at about 9:30 a.m.
I felt my girlfriend’s warmth next to me, which was strange, because she was supposed to be at work. When I rolled over and tapped her on the shoulder to see what was wrong, I was surprised to notice that she was no longer a 4-foot-11-inch tall Hispanic woman but a six-foot-tall black woman with cropped blonde hair.
She seemed surprised, too.
“What are you doing in my bed,” she screamed.
“I’d ask you the same thing,” I replied.
“Get out of here,” she rejoined.
“Who are you?”
My heart was pounding. I rolled over to grab my cat and was dismayed to find that she, too, had been transmogrified from black and white tabby into a brindle pit pull. The pit bull, it’s ears and tail docked, gnashed it teeth and began to snarl wildly.
“Help,” my erstwhile girlfriend began to bellow. “Help, Help, there’s a fat rapist in my apartment!”
I took that as my cue and bolted from the bed, grabbed the nearest pair of pants I could find and barreled out of the bedroom and toward the front door. The pit bull was hot on my heels and sinking its teeth into my ankles. I screamed in pain and wagged my leg hard, flinging the ferocious dog into the coffee table.
I paused to catch my breath but soon noticed that the woman was making a beeline toward me and armed with an aluminum softball bat. I pulled the pants up and found that I had gained 20 pounds over night and couldn’t get the zipper up. No bother, I jumped through the bay window in the living room, fell down, pulled myself up and ran down the street.
“Someone call the police,” I heard her yell from the front door.
It soon occurred to me that outside was no better than inside. The sun was now crimson and dripping blood, and the landscaping in front of my apartment complex bore large scorch marks, presumably where the stars had fallen from the sky. A pack of coyotes howled somewhere close by and a low growl emanated from nowhere.
I was officially freaking out.
I started to walk to the office, keenly aware that I had no shoes, no shirt and a pair of Dockers that wouldn’t zip up in front. I hate Dockers and never wear them. Suddenly, a crack opened up in the sidewalk and and mangled claws emerged from the hole. They beckoned me.
“Join us, John,” a voice called out. “Join us in hell! You belong to us!”
I cut into a full run and could hear the moaning, groaning voices continue to call out to me. Join us. Join us. Join us. …
I guess what I’m saying is Daylight Savings really screws me up. And this was the good one where we “gain an hour.” I’d hate to tell you what happens in spring time.