You know when you were a kid how you hated bedtime because you thought you’d be “missing out” on something…as if your parents threw a rip-roaring party the moment your little head hit the pillow. Or else maybe they called in a balloon animal-making clown and a pony for riding, just as you dozed off…Or they ordered pizza for late-night delivery with extra cheese and pepperoni — all topped off by a giant ice cream sundae.
Well, I have to admit, I am no longer young (in the physical sense, since I’ll always be a kid at heart) but still “bedtime” for me conjures up the same emotions that I felt as a child (yeah, you guessed it, feetie pajamas and all). To this day, when I see the clock strike ten, a lump forms in my throat…Yup, bedtime has reared its ugly head yet again.
As in any forced ritual, I begrudgingly brush and floss my teeth, remove my contact lenses and wipe away the day’s worth of makeup. I trudge to turn out the lights and turn off the TV. Even with today’s technology, nothing is quite like staying up late to watch The Tonight Show at the time when it actually airs — it doesn’t have the same effect watching it on my DVR at 8:00am on Sunday morning.
And so my head hits the pillow…I surrender myself to Morpheus. Yet I continue to be convinced that somewhere downstairs in my apartment lobby, there’s a clown with a bag full of balloons and a calico-spotted pony, waiting just for me.