I have one simple question for you: Are you a work-a-holic?
The reason I ask is that something seems to have gone haywire in our relationship. In fact, you are quite overdoing my nightly sanding.
Now I know that some people think you're just a mythical figure . . . sneaking along at night to sprinkle sand in the eyes of little children to make them sleepy . . . but I believe in you. In fact I'm quite sure you exist because I feel the results of your gritty mischief each and every night. And I don't know how to break this to you . . . because the primary task on your job description is to make folks sleepy . . . but, with the constant fatigue I already feel, no enhancement is needed on that front.
Now, Sir, it wouldn't be so bad if you just stopped at my eyes. Why do you feel it your duty to move your desert-like presence on to my mouth, throat, lungs, nose and sinuses - causing me to wake up like I've been through the wringer?
And as to the dreams you're supposed to bring???? Who, in their right mind, could dream pleasant dreams when they're practically gasping for air all night? I'm convinced your over-zealousness in the sanding department is causing me to wake each night - the victim of horrible nightmares and panic.
Please excuse any personal insult, Mr. Sandman, but from your picture up there you appear to have achieved a ripe old age. And perchance you have grown a wee bit confused or hard of hearing in your golden years. And I ask you: Have you mistaken the word fabulous for sabulous? Because I used to feel fabulous upon waking in the morning, but instead I now feel sabulous (that's right, old Sandy, it's a real word which means sandy or gritty.)
And I miss the days of feeling fabulous.
So, without further ado, I am ordering you to skip right over my bed tonight - and every night henceforth. Consider this fair notice that I am barring my windows and doors against you and going to bed in full combat gear. I have sprayed and swabbed the inside of my mouth, moisturized my eyes, jelled up my lids, and neti-potted my sinuses. I have even employed my cool mist humidifier so that if you even dare to show yourself in my room you will be vaporized in no time flat.
Please don't take this personally, Mr. Sandman. You know I hate to break our long-standing relationship, but it's really much better for both of us. I get a reprieve from your over-sanding; and you get a chance to rest.
Yes, rest. Take a vacation. Relax and ride the waves on the beach where you gather your sand. Or better yet, retire altogether and spend the rest of your days in the Sahara.
Leave all that nightly flitting to the tooth fairy. She's much younger than you are.
And she brings money. . .
Let's face it. . .if she took your job, Mr. Sandman, I'd be a millionaire by now!
