Plate Fajitas and Perspectives

I don’t actually know where to begin this time… Perhaps I need to explain a few things before launching into last night’s adventures.

Sleepwalking. I have a history of this. The first time I can recall was how I, as a 12-yearold, got out of bed and went downstairs to the livingroom where my mother and stepfather were still up and watching the news. I asked them what they’d done with the picture that the pixies had given to me. I clearly remember the dream to this day and how outraged I felt at how they must have moved it or taken it from my room. I also clearly remember the moment I woke up, when I felt really confused (still remembering the pixies and their gift to me, yet suddenly realising it had been a dream) and although feeling quite stupid, still annoyed at them for some reason.

Another episode was about five years ago. Monkey and I were in Sweden and I went on the sleepwalkies at Mum’s house. I only remember what happened after I woke up, so what happened before that I will have to relay from Mum’s perspective: she now inhabits what used to be my old bedroom downstairs, whereas at this point Monkey and I would use what used to be her and my stepfather’s bedroom. In my sleepwalking haze, I have apparently gone downstairs to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, but instead of heading back upstairs, sleepwalking Anna goes to her old bedroom. Mum wakes up because there’s some bloody freak at the bottom of the bed pulling at the duvet – I mean, how’s that for a horror movie scenario?

Mum reaches over and turns on her bedside table lamp, probably both frightened and confused. And there I am, at the bottom of her bed, tugging at the duvet.

Anna, what on earth are you doing?” she quite rightly asks, pulling back at the duvet I’m for some insane reason trying to pull off her.

I wave my hands at her in a dismissive sort of gesture and theatrically exclaim “switch it off! Switch if oooooff!

This is the moment my poor Mum dissolves in giggles as she realises ‘oh God, here we go again, my crazy daughter is sleepwalking’.

Anna! You’re sleepwalking! Wake up!” she demands but is struggling through fits of laughter, and who can blame her.

And this is the moment I wake up. I’m standing in my Mum’s bedroom and I’m holding the end of her duvet in my hands, her pulling it back at the other end at the same time as she is laughing so much she has tears running down her pretty cheeks. And I burst out laughing. Cannot stop bloody laughing. She listens to me going up the stairs and hears me laughing the whole way. Oh yeah, I’m a nutter of great proportions.

So, last night. We decided to be naughty and after a fun filled weekend have a couple of drinks at one of our favourite pubs here in Chiswick. Got home and had some more wine and made fajitas. Stuck on an episode of ‘The Fall’ and we both fell asleep on the sofa. I need to point out that I am more likely to sleepwalk if alcohol is involved. Well, I’m more likely to do anything at all that might be weird or downright stupid if alcohol is involved, but hey-ho.

B wakes first from our little sofa doze and tries to shake life into his slightly tipsy and fast asleep girlfriend Anna, the Sleeping Terror. Next thing I know, I’m unloading the dishwasher – only problem is that it hasn’t run its cycle and it’s dirty dishes I am putting back into the cupboards. I proceed to make plate fajitas. Yes, that’s right. PLATE FAJITAS. I have got two plates out and I have prepared them just the way you would with the soft tortilla flat breads, smearing soured cream on them and I’m just about to start adding tomatoes too.

B comes into the kitchen and discovers all of the above. And this is when I get that wake up call and kind of realise that ‘oh fuck, I’m being crazy’. Same issue though. Like when Mum and my stepdad pointed out that A) there’s no picture, and B) no fairies, I get MAD! I get super annoyed at him, as if what I was just saying or doing makes perfect fucking sense. I throw a huge strop for no reason whatsoever, all the while trying to act as if HE is the one with mental problems when in fact I’m the definition of crazy in this household.

I have no choice but to let my beautiful B do a little guest blog post this time and I am copying it in below and will post before actually checking what he’s written…. Here goes..

Plate Fajitas as observed by B

So there we were. In the kitchen at 1030 last night and the Love of my Life was diligently spreading sour cream on a side plate. So what lead to this mysterious event?

Firstly, we had more than our share of wine yesterday. A few glasses at The Lamb followed by a couple of bottles of NZ’s finest from Malborough….nothing too unusual there then. We decided to make fajitas and they turned out brilliantly. We had some left-overs it has to be said, and these were left out on the worktop, in case an evening snack was required.

Secondly, the LomL has a penchant for sleep-walking, and has been found stark naked at the front door ringing the bell to get back in (another storey but we won’t go there). Needless to say, the only thing predictable about the LomL after a few wines (and extreme tiredness) is the unpredictable.

So it’s no surprise then when asked why the she found the need to be spreading sour cream so delicately on the plate, was that “we are having fajitas for dinner, of course!” Doh. Of course.

Moments later, the LomL was found curled up in bed, fast asleep. It was only today when we recalled the events of the evening it became so absurd, yet so familiar, and we were able to laugh so hard about it.

Wouldn’t life be so boring without predictable unpredictability?

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