Pop Goes the Sleepwalker


One morning I got up and found popcorn in my bed.

Since I never eat anything in bed and since I knew I did not have any popcorn before I went to bed, I had no idea why my bed looked like the floor of a movie theater cineplex.

"Did you have popcorn in bed last night?" I asked my husband.

He gave me that look he always gives me when I ask him something inane.

"Nope," he responded.

"Are you sure?"


"I'm sure I did not have any popcorn in bed last night," he affirmed assuredly, as though giving testimony in court. "I did not have any Twizzlers, either."

"Well, there's popcorn in the bed and I know I didn't have any, and you say you didn't have any, so where did it come from?" I wondered, cross-examining the witness. I held out a couple of slightly squashed popcorn kernels as evidence.

"Maybe someone else was sleeping in our bed and eating popcorn," he replied.

"Who? You mean like Goldilocks?" I wondered. I shook my head. I knew it was just the two of us in the house, so it meant one of us -- my husband or I -- was the culprit. There was definitely a popcorn-eating bed offender in our midst, and he needed to be brought to justice, preferably before the next laundry day.


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