8-29-05 THIS will require a Pop Tart

It is 12:58a.m. Monday morning. Insomnia strikes with a wicked, taunting voice. "Not tonight dearie. No sleep for you." I toss. I turn. Out of sheer sympathy I drag myself out of my fresh, clean Sunday night sheets. My restlessness cannot keep my dear husband from his much needed slumber.

Down the stairs I creep. I tiptoe across the cold kitchen tiles. I must get my hands on the antidote. I open the cabinet and I reach for the sweet kryptonite. The one thing that can keep this beast at bay:



(He looks frightened, doesn't he? He should. He never had a chance. Bwwahahahaha)