Beauty Sleep? There’s nothing like that idiot!

Myths are rife in backward societies but the advance of modern technology has made that definition hardly fitting for any society.

You have heard the idiomatic expression: Go have a ‘beauty sleep’ and many other variants of the sleep and beauty combo.

There is nothing like beauty sleep, end of story! If there were, some people don’t have any reason to look like Bounce [that Congolese footballer whose countenance could break any mirror he looks into].

This idiom is one of the lies the fathers of the language doled out. There’s is nothing beautiful about the act of sleeping.

You need to see the contortions on your face when you sleep. It is a rare person who looks or act as well asleep as he does awake. As a dating rule, I don’t ask out a lady until I could see the form and extent of her facial contours while at sleep. Some faces are horrific to wake up to! Forget all the cheesy lines of “I want to wake up and observe your smile in your sleep” that poets use.

Sometimes ago, I tried to carry out this experiment on a lady. At night, while in bed the poet in me made to write a poem about her smile-in-the-sleep but was met with a rude shock of my life.

The lady’s face was transformed into… [I’d leave you to fill in the gap]. She roused suddenly with that feeling you have that a pair of eyes is searing into you. Her expression changed from the-morning-after look to concern upon seeing something on my face…which was only a reflection of her sleeping countenance.

She: “What’s the problem Charly?”

Me: “Oh, I had a nightmare!”

Sleep, as expressed in my previous post is an essential part of our existence. Some people sleep away a-quarter of their lives but others do not get enough.

I believe sound sleeping habits should be encouraged and practiced but lying about if sleeping makes you beautiful or fat is another ball game.

 

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This is a contribution to the #AtoZChallenge at http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/

If this most has made you laugh you owe me a cent in your words in the comment box…You can look forward to more ideas throughout the month of April on this space.

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Follow me on Twitter: @SeeWilhelms

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Charles is a chauvinist satiric humorist who plies his trade regardless of whose balls are ruptured. He suffers from bouts of cynicism since the day he encountered logic. Be warned!

‘L’ for Life’s Choices (Friday-Flash-Fictioneers)

Life’s Choices

‘I wanted you to see beauty before you go’ he said genially

Johnny looked around momentarily ‘That’s kind of you executioner, I love the sight of it’

 ‘Pity you may be seeing it a last time’ he said tersely

‘My death is as sure as egg is egg in your hands’ Johnny replied calmly

‘With you I would rather be liberal. Would you rather jump into the manhole or walk through that tunnel?

Johnny tossed the proposition in his mind. Both are surely for death. I will rather a familiar devil; a jump or a walk: who knows what either held.

He flipped into the manhole.

He started up from the dream, still in his cell.

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This is a sequel to Johnny waits to die and the conclusion is well developing. Thanks for reading.

This is at once a contribution to the #AtoZChallenge and for the regular Friday Fictioneers cafe at Madison Woods’ Blog visit her to get a potpourri of  thoughts inspired by the photo prompt.

‘K’ for Kiss & Tell

kISS & TELL

I love stories God knows I do. Being a lonewolf, I grew up enjoying my lone company and exploring the out-of-reach land of fantasies.

I was so disconnected from realities that my worldviews came from tales from books—fictions and factions. The more I never questioned my narcissistic tendency to keep to my reasoning the more I found the whole humanity insane.

Whenever I was caught in some spontaneous conversations with those, who passed as acquaintances back in high school days the more obvious my warped thoughts, was made known.

Occasionally I did go with the boys and had some precious moments, then I had to be drawn out, and some fellas saw to it that I was always drawn along.

This precious company soon grew sour thanks to my far-fetched tales. When boys shared exploits and conquests— that’s called gisting as against the indulgence of ladies-gossip, but I never saw the difference if both include taking about an absent person—I was handy to link each person’s story to a character I must have read about. Should I be blamed, when every nuance of life seems to be a slice from my fictions?

They grew weary and requested original tales of my escapades, or am I a coward? I took exception to being a coward; of course, I had feelings and my hypothalamus was secreting necessary hormones. I decided upon giving a tale for the boys at out next gathering. I picked a story I shall dish out regularly as progress of my dalliance from my latest fictions. I picked a lady as the object of my attraction. That, I discovered was going to be my greatest undoing.

I spilled stories about Anne, my dreamed girl that could only be true in my dreams and watched how other boys gleefully relish every detail of the experience. Envy grew; admiration simmered but I stuck to my plot. Anne is the fairest of all girls in our high school who cared as much for me as one would for the desks in the classes.

It came to a day I told them my success in getting her phone contact from her—another great feat, for no boy has been flattered with such attention from Anne.

Naturally, I came back to the boys to tell them the conversation on the phone the previous night; I recounted her delight to hear my voice that I even stretched my luck to declare my intention to own her. The boys held their breathe to hear my deserved ‘No’ but I was not ready to burst the bubble… I will let them decide what the situation is when they see us pair up at lunchtime. The bell went soon after.

‘Hey, Charles what were you saying on phone last night’ Anne’s voice barred my way into the café

‘Hey you!’ I blurted out, spilling drinks from my mouth. Must this be here, I thought looking around. Nicholas was in hearing shot and loosely hung unto my next utterance

‘Yeah, the network was poor but I sent a message, didn’t you get that?’ I pleaded for mercy. Anne cannot possibly expect me to ask her out here and now.

‘I did but I didn’t get the drift’ She demanded matter of fact

I wished the ground to open and swallow me. I stuttered for words and the bank of it failed me.

Nicholas, hurled a bowel of laughter at me…’I thought you were involved with her? Fool!’

‘Who, me? Only in your wildest dreams!’  Anne said, casting a venomous shot at me

Sure, it all happened in my wildest dream.

Need I say I never shared tales with no boy but only my blog?