Not Today

It was a grim cold morning on a gray and grumpy Monday at the Beardsley home. Mr. Beardsley rose with a huff and a puff and a frown on his adult face.

“Oh, huff and a puff, how little I care for the awake and working game of my chosen profession,” he bemoaned. He rubbed his eyes and looked over at Mrs. Beardsley, still asleep. Mr. Beardsley had trained himself to get up without an alarm clock, even in the grumpiest, grayest, grimmest cold mornings.

“I could much rather stay sleeping in my sleeping-cloud bed and not go play the awake and working game of my chosen profession. My wife and sleeping-cloud bed and dream-dreaming friend looks so peaceful and pleasant like I must have looked before I started playing this awake and working game,” Mr. Beardsley mused extensively. He yawned and stretched and carried on without leaving his bed. It was exceptionally cold that day and he knew all too well that the wood floor their bed stood on was going to be icy cold against his bare feet.

“You know what?” He asked you.

“Not today.” He resolved. Not today would he play his awake and working game. Today he would let the sleeping-cloud bed wrap around his dream-dreaming head. And his wife, too. She was not as ably awakened by honoring her occupational hour; she needed an alarm clock; she was a Communist, too. Mr. Beardsley secretly disarmed the clock's alarm and elected his wife to incur an excursion into the world of dreams- with him.

Sleeping rules.