Some posts just write themselves...
While I stayed up last night to watch the Twins lose in a one-game playoff against the White Sox, the wife went to bed early. When it finally came time for me to join her, she asked me, sounding alarmed, "Wait! What day is it?"
I responded matter-of-factly, "Tuesday."
"Do you know what that means?" she asked dramatically.
"No, what does it mean?" I asked.
"It means that tomorrow is Wacky Wednesday!" At this point, I realized that my wife was communicating from beyond the pale of sleep. My wife's impressive nocturnal communication skills have been previously noted (click here, for example); I was eager to continue in this conversation. "What happens on Wacky Wednesday, dear?"
"Everyone wears hats with googly eyes!" She giggled.
"And they might wear their overalls backwards!"
"Does anything else happen on Wacky Wednesday?"
"Yes--you wear shirts with little polka dots... and..."
She was fading. I didn't want to lose her. "What about the polka dots, honey?"
"The polka dots... they... talk..."
"What do they say?"
"They say, 'We're hungry. We want to eat donuts.' And then I give them little tiny donuts, and the polka dots are all happy." Her tone changed abruptly. "But the next day is Troubling Thursday." In her sleep, it seems, she believed Troubling Thursday to be as alliterative as Wacky Wednesday.
"What's so troubling about Thursday?" I prodded.
"I don't know what the trouble is... that's what's so troubling..."
She began to mumble, almost imperceptibly. I knew that I was losing her. I tried to revive her without actually waking her, but she was gone--lost to the deep, silent slumber that that follows RMM (rapid mouth movement) sleep.
I never learned what was so troubling about Thursday. I hope it doesn't involve nauseated polka dots. Godspeed to us all.