Rude Awakenings

Coming back home from a night out, I stumbled up to the front door, pulled out my key and tried it in the lock. It didn’t work, so I gave a gentle knock. When nobody answered, I sailed around to the back of the house and let myself in the patio doors. I removed my shoes.

Then I made my way over to the sofa and got myself comfortable, dozing off to sleep. Shortly after I was rudely awoken by a strange woman shaking my arm.

“Who the hell are you?” she cried out, with an aghast expression.

If I wasn’t so drunk I might have leaped up, “I used to live here,” I argued back.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said, “not anymore.”

Defencelessly, I replied, “fair point, could you see me on my way then?”

She said, “with pleasure. I don’t take kindly to being awoken by strange men in the night.”

“I’m no stranger,” I pleaded. “I lived here for many years.”

“You’re off your rocker,” she retorted, “I moved here 2 months ago! If you don’t leave now, I am calling the police!”

I saw sense, gathered my belongings, and she ushered me out of the door. As she was assisting me to my feet, it all suddenly came rushing back to me.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I said, “we moved out of here a while ago.”

The woman replied, “that’s good to know your memory is coming back. How convenient.”

“I must be on my way,” I said, as I barged past the woman and tried to get back out the door. “I’ll see myself off.”

“To right you will,” the woman replied, “breaking up my sleep, and giving me a great scare to boot.”

I mumbled a barely audible apology.  

I could feel the woman’s eyes riveted to me as I walked back up her drive. I stumbled home in an intoxicated manner. When I finally got back, I slumped straight into bed.

The next morning, I surfaced with an awful hangover. I went downstairs and as I approached the front door; I could see my socks on the shoe rack covered in dust, grass, sticks and stones.

My mum was in the kitchen, and she saw me walk in.

“What happened to you last night?” she said, in a delicate voice.

I whispered back, “never mind that, what happened to my socks?”

“I’ve no idea,” she replied.

“That makes two of us then,” I said.

“Dad, got any ideas?”

Dad gave a perplexed shrug of his shoulders; “I know nothing.”

Several hours later there was a knock on the door, and my dad went off to see who it was.

Standing on the porch was the woman from the previous night, holding my shoes in the air.

“Nick, he said, “I know what happened to your socks …”