Last week, one of the place mats from our dining room table went missing. It was scary for a few minutes, because what if burglars had broken into our apartment? They’d left the laptops, the DVDs, the Darth Vader Mr. Potato Head I got in a holiday gift exchange, but taken the place mat? THE HUMANITY.
It was weird though. Three of the four usually there were arranged nicely and normally and one of the two black ones – we have two black and two red, aren’t we decorative? – was gone. Anthony’d noticed it while I was at work and had apparently spent some time looking for it, in the kitchen, the closet, the laundry room.
Needless to say, we were concerned. Anthony was “scurred.” Was it a burglar? A ghost? Or, as Anthony pointed out, was it me, sleepwalking? YES. It was me, sleepwalking. Most people go to the kitchen, or outside or wake up on the laundry room floor. Me? I hide place mats.
Just kidding, I hide forks.
OK, so, I have sleepwalked once before. It was a night when I was visiting Louisville from O-town and had been out with my friends. Yes, I got home late, and yes, I’d had two shots of tequila, but I was by no means intoxicated. And, side note, ever since then, my parents warn me not to drink tequila when I go out because they think it is to blame for the sleepwalking.
The night it happened, I have no memory of any of it except for the end, when my mom finally woke me up. But one thing you should know, before we begin this story, is that any time of year except winter, if I am sleeping, I am doing so SANS PANTS. Just FYI.
Alright. That night I got home after 1 or 2 a.m., I’m pretty sure, and went straight to bed. Allegedly, at some point in the middle of the night, I wandered into my parents room and tried to go into their bathroom. Why? Don’t know. At my parents’ house, the room I sleep in when I’m there is RIGHT NEXT TO A BATHROOM. When my mom asked what I was doing, I said, “I have to go to the bathroom.” She told me I wasn’t in the bathroom, so I left.
A few minutes later, I’m back in their room, this time standing (I imagine creepily) in my t-shirt and underwear in front of my dad’s dresser. Again, they asked what the eff I was doing, to which I again apparently said, “I HAVE to go to the BATHROOM.” And, once again, they told me that was not even close to where I was standing.
Eventually my mom got up and guided me to the bathroom next to the room where I’d been sleeping. She waited while I went and walked me to my room. Then she said, “Are you awake?” AND THAT, friends, is when I woke up. So, wondering why my mom was standing in my doorway asking me an OBVIOUS question – why else would I be standing up out of my bed talking to her if I was asleep – I said, “YES, duh.” Except, without the duh. But with that general attitude. After that, I went to sleep.
The next morning when I went downstairs for breakfast, my mom replayed the night’s events, which is 1) when they found out I’d drank tequila and tried to blame it on that, 2) we figured out I really was sleep-walking, something I’d never done before (and haven’t since) and 3) I realized, “Oh, awesome, I wasn’t wearing any pants when I was up walking around the house, was I?”
Yeah. It was weird. My dad used to sleepwalk, apparently, and one time, when Sami was little, she did – boy was that super-creepy. I still don’t know why it happened, but I can’t say I’m surprised. I have some of the weirdest sleep habits/behaviors that you’ll ever hear of, but that’s a story for another time. I also have steered clear of tequila shots if I can help it, just to be on the safe side.
So, have I kept you in suspense long enough? Are you ready to find out what happened to the missing place mat?
Kind of anti-climactic, but it ended up being in the backseat of my car. Creepy, right? Not really, considering I’d accidentally grabbed it when I picked up my hoodie of the same color off the dining room table that morning and had mistakenly grabbed the place mat, too.
So we aren’t being haunted (that we know of…just kidding, Anthony) and we weren’t robbed. I am just not a morning person and need to pay more attention when I grab my stuff off the table on the way out the door.
Case closed. Sherlock Holmes, I am not.
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