Our dog, who loves to chase lizards has run one of those damned things into my bedroom. I considered moving or setting the house on fire but I decided to take an antihistamine and go dead to bed instead hoping that the meds would put me into an anti-reptile sensory coma. No such luck. I inspected every corner of my bed an pillows, no sign of that green bastard. I looked around the room for any sign of that Geico-looking-son-of-a-gun. Nothing. I sealed my ass up in that bed and was so tucked in that I was collecting condensation under the sheets. Sleep came.
2:00 a.m.. I bolted up with the strangest tickle on my décolletage. I started flappin’ and slappin’ my chest and undercarriage so hard that I literally snatched a knot on myself. I flung every stitch of clothes off and sprinted through the house screaming “Oh GOD! It’s Got Me!” The dog, awoken at his post in the family room, thought I was a chubby naked intruder in the dark and bit me right on the ass. The bite broke my run and I remembered that the wall made a “splat” as my first round of titty-slaps sent Mr. Lizard into space.
Beat up, bitten and unclothed I went back to my room to see if I could find him. He was gone. I decided I’d spend the next few nights on the couch and wait for him to be eaten by the dog. They deserve each other.