Slumber-less Party

I have a handy little alarm mechanism: if I find myself desperately searching for a bathroom in my dreams, I can promptly rouse myself to take appropriate action. I am exceedingly grateful for this–as is the Spouse, undoubtedly.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for a variety of embarrassing sleep behaviors, this afternoon serving as a case in point.

I lurched into consciousness, suddenly aware that my jaw was stretched into a silent scream and a large bubble of spit ballooned from my gaping crevasse. Since the cup and napkin had magically disappeared from my tray table, there was no doubt that my Munch face had been witnessed.

The original Munch face, the day Sotheby's sold it for $120 million. Flight attendants got mine for free! Getty image from www.nj.com.
The original Munch face, the day Sotheby’s sold it for $120 million. Flight attendants got mine for free! Getty image from http://www.nj.com.

The circumstances of this last-minute flight to my childhood home are too recent and too raw to probe at the moment. Instead, I will tell you why I was so dang tired. I will divulge the wisdom I found at 3:28 last Sunday morning:

I am done hosting slumber parties.

The only caveat which might possibly allow for a future overnight posse of midgets would be a signed affidavit from the parent or guardian of each participant, asserting that the potential attendee would not, under any circumstances:

  • Yell or whine for prolonged periods of time as if the Disney Channel had come to life.
  • Pour copious amounts of the host’s toiletries into dozens of Kleenexes and toss the soggy blobs into the shower.
  • Dump three quarters of the contents of her plate onto the floor, survey the carnage, and proceed to stroll through it in her tights.
  • Break off a sofa leg.
  • Say things like, “you’re terrible at this game,” and “there’s no room for you in here,” to the birthday girl until she cries.
  • Interpret the words “no” and “stop” as encouragement to continue on course.
  • Have a complete meltdown over music selection and then hide in the attic.
  • Have three subsequent crying jags clothed only in underpants, making all the other guests fight to sleep in another room.
  • Yell “I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND!” in host’s face as she attempts to soothe you.
  • Sneak downstairs and retrieve forbidden technology after bedtime, then keep a few guests awake all night with inappropriate garbage from the internet.
  • Lock herself in the bathroom in the middle of the night and proceed to pound relentlessly on the door while the host hunts frantically for a screwdriver.
  • Offer culinary critique such as, “I like waffles, but not when they taste like this.”

In the case of a breach of contract, the parent or guardian of the offending party would be fined an amount commensurate with an overnight sitter, lodging for two at a nearby resort, plus a couple of therapy sessions. Better yet, let’s collect the fee up front as a security deposit. Who knows, we might even return it if your child comports herself appropriately.

Advertisements

Published by

Beret Olsen

Writer, photographer, teacher, and part-time insomniac.

3 thoughts on “Slumber-less Party”

  1. I allowed my twins to have ONE slumber party. Not that they minded the resulting ban – once was enough for them too. In my limited experience though I would add that attendees will not:
    • Play balloon volleyball with such force that a clash with a (modest) chandelier shatters the encased lightbulb all over the collectives’ sleeping bags.
    • Refuse to sleep until 4am…
    • …Subsequently wake at 6am and burst into host’s bedroom, switching on the lights demanding breakfast and birthday cake.
    You’re bang on the money with the other points though.

    Like

    1. Oh! I think I might have wept if the light bulb shattered all over everyone’s sleeping bags. And what is the appeal of staying up until 4, anyway? I must be old, because I can’t recall.

      Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s