I had two massive slices of Tiramisu stacked up in my hands. I was begging Ozzy (or Pinche Brazilero, as Pietro the cook refers to him,) for a to go container. He kept handing me containers full of fried mozzarella. "Just gimmie a friggin container! Ozzy! Gimmie a damn container!" Nothing is more frustrating than that scenario.
I Blinked. I was in bed. I checked my calculator watch. 7:30. Perplexed, I thought "why on earth am I awake at this ungodly hour?" As I lay there, musing upon what could have possible awakened me from that wretched dream, I began to assess my surroundings and current condition. My spine was mildly crinkled, but that certainly wasn't enough to account for the awakening. Small amounts of light were furtively peeking through my window shades. Not sufficient to waken me. I wasn't sweaty. I wasn't cold. Why was I awake?
I sniffed. Everything suddenly made sense.
There was nothing surreptitious about it; I had been blind-sided by popcorn stench.
As I lay there, nostrils being raped by the inescapable onslaught of popcorn redolence, I wondered, "what sort of person eats popcorn at 7:30 in the morning?"
I then thought, "Oh. Probably the same person who leaves dirty socks in the sink."
Early morning popcorn stench makes sleeping impossible. I'm Pissed.