The Curse of Comfort
I have been noticing a reocurring phenomenon which has increased my vexation over the years thus far. It seems that nature has bestowed upon children a curse so befuddling that no human power could possibly conquer it. It begins on those cool fall nights, when it is just warm enough in bed to make a body feel as if they are wrapped in toasted clouds. Just as a child is about to begin a most delicious dream, they realize a mild discomfort. It may be a faint thirst, or a pajama leg being twisted slightly. The pajama leg is easily remedied, and soon the child is content. One should note, though, that the pillow doesn't feel quite as soft, and doesn't have the wonderful nook it had a moment before. Then, so close to slumber, the nagging comes on again. This time, the thirst is more persistent, more of a discomfort. There is no way to return to the restful bliss of moments before until this dilemma has been adressed. The only possible solution is the beckoning of one reliable savior – the gaurdian of all poor, young, unfortunate souls met with a predicament such as this – it is that of Mother. Ah, yes, with that one glorious word, all will be set in the proper balance of things. But what is this? The child finds that the weight of their eyelids and the effort necessary to be exerted is too much. A weak croak emits from their mouth. They sigh, knowing such a noise is useless. Then, the Great Debate begins. Is it worth mustering all the energy needed to call, or should they suffer silently? The memory of snuggling comfortably arises to their troubled minds, and with a surge of energy, they yelp, "MOM-MEE!!!" She comes, and the child's thirst is quenched. Minutes pass, and contentment is apparent by the small grin spread across the child's face, almost asleep. Then, the eyes open slightly. The water has done its work, and now the discomfort has returned. A trip to the bathroom is in need. This concept is so terrible that it makes the child wiggle deeper into the warm blankets. Oh, horror! But there is no other chance of regaining sweet slumber until the infernal difficulty has been relieved. And so, slithering from the piles of warm sheets onto the cold, wooden floor, gingerly placing their toes on as little surface as possible, the child scurries to the bathroom. The light switch is a pain not worth facing, and so there is darkness. Soon the child slips back under the covers, onl to find they are no longer tired. Thus is the joy of bedtime ruined by the curse of childhood.
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