By allowing ads to appear on this site, you support the local businesses who, in turn, support great journalism.
The field of screams
Placeholder Image

I went to bed last night at my usual time of 9 on the dot. Watched a bit of the news, “Seinfeld,”  “The Simpsons” and read to Sunnybuns. I don’t think I finished the first paragraph before he sawed his first log.

I finally drifted off around 11, thinking how nice it would be to sleep all the way thru to 6 a.m.
I was rousted from my sleep by a horrific dream.

I wiped the drool from my cheek and looked around the darkened room, staring at the neon light on the clock. 3:20.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and smacked my dry lips together, trying to decide if I’d been dreaming or if it was real.

Did that happen yesterday? Did I just dream it? What day is it? Who am I?

I’d dreamt that I was watching TV, and Barack Obama was being sworn in as president.

Just as he finished up with the process, he leaned into the microphone and said, “Well folks, we’ve had a bit of a change of plans here ... Joe Biden has decided to retire ... so ... Bill Clinton will be replacing him as vice president.”

I clutched my chest, ala Fred Sanford, and felt myself going faint. Hubs ran over and stuck a Cheeto in my mouth to revive me.

I crunched it, breathlessly asking, “Have we got any Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls in the house?”

Hubs leaped up and frantically sorted through the cupboards.

I crawled backwards away from the television set, then slowly hoisted myself to the recliner.

I flipped the handle and sat in quiet repose, trying to catch my breath.

Hubs found a Swiss Cake Roll and put it on a dessert plate, then handed me an ice cold Coke.

“Take a deep breath, mama, take a deep breath,” he encouraged.

“Please ... (gasp) ... please tell me ... (gasp) ... that I didn’t just hear what I thought I heard...” I asked beseechingly.

“About Clinton?” Hubs said.

I nodded, a bit of chocolate sticking to my lip.

“Yeah ... sadly ... it’s true,” he said, turning back to the television.

I woke up when I felt myself screaming “No!” at the top of my lungs. And of course, when you’re sleeping, all that comes out is a sort of garbled “neehhh,” like you have marbles in your mouth.

I forced myself out of bed and put one foot on the floor to make sure I could feel it, and then stumbled to the bathroom.

I got a cold chill sitting there, thinking, “It couldn’t be. Not Clinton. Not in the White House ... again.”

The gods must be crazy, but they ain’t stupid.

On venturing back to bed in the near dark, I looked out onto the softly lit patio. Looking back at me thru the patio door was the biggest skunk I ever saw.

“Bill?” I asked softly.

The skunk heard me and turned away, toddling off to wherever he’d come from. I was amazed. I didn’t know skunks got that big. I thought they were little and cute, like Pepe LePew.

I watched him walk off, that big furry beast with the white stripe down his back.

“No, you couldn’t be Clinton,” I murmured. “The stripe would have to be yellow.”

I climbed back into bed and got as close as possible to the open window that was letting in a cool breeze.

I laid there thinking about how bad things would be if that ever came to pass. We’d have to kiss the military goodbye, first of all. That “universal health care plan” would sink us even deeper down that financial toilet. Those tax cuts for the middle class would end up costing everyone else ... cause nobody ever talks about the “trickle  down” theory when taxes get cut. Or when businesses have to pay more in taxes. Clinton was famous for a lot of things, and he certainly took credit for a lot of things that he had nothing to do with. Worst of all, Hillary would be dusting off her epaulets to wear on her uniform of the day.

I guess I shouldn’t sweat it. Obama knew enough not to select Hillary as his running mate ± the Clintons would have run him right out of the White House. They know tag-team wrestling like no other couple in this country.

As I watched the minutes tick by, I realized the sun was just coming up.

Hmm. 5:35. Well, I guess now is as good a time as any ... and I headed off to the kitchen to crack open that Little Debbie.