Is This The Real Life?

There is nothing more satisfying, more delicious to the soul in all the Universe, than waking up on a Saturday morning just for the sheer pleasure of going back to sleep. 

This is never more true than on rainy Saturdays, when you crack an eye to peek at the dawn, see nothing but drizzle, scootch closer to the cat, squirm a bit and drift back into dreams of Jason Statham holding fluffy bunnies. 

Close enough.

All of that is true but what is more true is this: waking up for a second time to the sudden recollection of the night previous, which was bizarre bordering on surreal and is now a jumbled blur of police interrogation rooms, disastrously mixed up sushi orders, the physics behind the failure of aluminium to bounce adequately for a decent game of Beer Pong, Fresca, a deadly game of Spoons with Newfies and Swedes and, probably too late, Benedryl. 

All of which results in the realization of the final truth. That bed surely, truly, is the best place to wait out the day and perhaps the rest of this posting.