My Morning At Bernie & Ester's

Have you ever woken up after a long night of partying to discover that you’re not in the right house? No, you probably never have. Yeah, you’re probably one of those “early to bed early to rise” folks who shoos away people like me.

Anyway, I woke up this morning to find I had wandered into the wrong house. When I heard that coffee maker doing its thing, I jumped right up and went for the door. I didn’t want the owners to get on me like I knew they would. (Some people have no sense of humor or a desire to be charitable!) Yes, I did spend the night on their couch, but it wasn’t my fault. In my defense, all of the houses on this street look the same. If they don’t want people accidentally spending the night of their couch, they should invest in some lawn ornaments or a dog or something.

So yeah, I thought if I could just quietly get to the door, and no one would know I was ever there. However, this wasn’t to be. At the precise moment when I was going to go out the door, the lady of the house spotted me.

“Bernie! Fly!” She said, pointing at me and hyperventilating.

“Huh?” said her hard of hearing spouse.

“A fly on the door! Bring me the spray!” she said, pulling at her hair.

“Huh?” he repeated.

“Clean your ears!” she yelled.

“Yes, I’m making coffee!” he yelled back.

“You’re hopeless.” she said as she exited into the kitchen.

If I had been born sensible and not inherited my mother’s curiosity gene, I would’ve tried to squeeze through the mail slot. Instead, I followed her. I had to see what Bernie looked like.

“I said a fly is on the living room door!” she said, hands on hips.

“A fly?” He asked, pouring a cup of coffee.

“Yes! A fly!” she replied, steam coming out of her ears.

“Ester, why are you yelling? Maybe I should make you some tea.”

“Clean out your ears with your tea!” She said, stomping over to the refrigerator.

At this point, Bernie mumbled something under his breath that I won’t repeat for fear of offending any ladies or refined men who read this. Just know it wasn’t polite even for the ears of Ester.

“You should’ve hit it with one of your magazines. You clutter up the house with them. No one needs to own so many magazines.”

“Lay off me, Bernie!” she said, placing a container of fruit on the table.

“You’re going to cause a fire with that collection.” He said popping open the container and taking out a piece of melon.

“Can’t you be my knight in shining armor and kill it for me?”

“I made coffee!”

“The coffee maker made the coffee!”

While they battled over coffee and the need to end my life, I flew over to the fruit and began to nibble on a cube of watermelon. Perhaps it was just because I hadn’t eaten in nearly a day, but I tell you that watermelon was heavenly. It was juicy and fresh and distracted me so much that I didn’t realize that Bernie was about to hit me with a roll of paper towels. If Bernie’s eyesight wasn’t horrible, he would’ve killed him. However, thanks to cataracts, he ended up knocking the container on to the floor which caused the happy couple to fight some more. Stunned, but grateful to be alive, I flew to the open kitchen window and out of their lives.

Thanks to this morning’s experience, I have learned my lesson. I will never eat rotten fruit again. Well, at least not this week.