My Drinking Problem

I keep my lotion by my bedside table. Sometimes I wake up in the night and my feet are so dry I can't get back to sleep, so I keep it handy. Or footy, as it were. But you'll notice I said by my bedside table, and not on it, because if I put it on the table the cats knock it off on their way to their glass of water.

Yeah, I've given up pretending possession of the glass of water on the table. I mean, I could drink out of it if I wanted to, but it's all full of cat spit, so I keep my beverages on the floor, in bottles

And I do mean beverages, plural. I have a bit of a problem that way. If I am sitting still (or sleeping) I always have to have at least two or three drink options within reach. Water, always. Usually Diet Coke. And then seltzer or coffee or a different kind of soda -- or beer -- depending on the time of day.

But last night, the cat fell off the bedside table (der!) and knocked my water bottle clear across the room. So when I woke up thirsty in the night, I drank the lotion!

Not drank-drank. I mean, I didn't swallow it. And I don't even understand how I let it get as far as in my mouth. I picked up the bottle, flipped up the flip-top lid (um, I don't know about where you live, but around here water bottles don't have flip-top lids), pursed my lips around the little hole (um, ditto), and sucked up a big old mouthful.

Then I woke up. Boy, howdy did I wake up.

I spit it out into my hand -- which was brilliant, because then I had a lotiony mouth and a spitty, lotiony hand to deal with, so I shook it off my hand onto a magazine I had left on the floor. Then I wiped both mouth and hand with (you guessed it) toilet paper and drank about a liter of Waist Watcher Citrus Frost (generic Fresca; times are hard, man).

When I woke up this morning, I discovered that I'd taken off my sleeping-sweatshirt in the night and put it smack dab on top of that magazine.

Maybe I should just go back to bed.