The Terrors of Espresso (in progress)

Let us just say that Nikki never in all her life expected such a situation to be possible as the situation that occurred one dreadful Saturday. It was, to all appearances, a perfectly normal Saturday. But then, of course, she had no way of knowing just what normal was supposed to be, since it was the very first Saturday of her married life in which she was not on her honeymoon and thus was to set precedence for all Saturdays to come later.

Oh, but heaven forbid such a reoccurrence! By the time it was over, she reflected that she probably wouldn't survive another.  

Nikki was in a habit of sleeping in on Saturdays. Twas a lovely habit and she quite enjoyed it. And she most definitely did NOT enjoy being startled awake when she wasn't ready for it. It made her ridiculously grumpy. But that, unfortunately, is exactly what happened. She slept through the first part of it at least, being a heavy sleeper, but all too soon she was awake to experience the rest of it.

It began with a very sleepy Rich dragging himself off to the kitchen because, tired as he felt, he simply couldn't sleep any longer. He hated that feeling. And it continued with considerable rummaging of cupboards and fridge as the hungry predator sought what he may devour. And the danger began to peak when he hazarded climbing atop a kitchen chair to see what exactly could be lurking in that mysterious cupboard above the fridge. It was with a wild hoot of amusement and joy that he jumped from the chair, rattling the windows in his suddenly revived haste. Still, Nikki did not wake. It would take something more violent yet to stir her from dreamland. Not even the yells of "Aha! Found it, Sunny! Betcha thought I wouldn't! Oh, happy day..."

No... it took even more than that. And poor Nikki was in for a dismal surprise. For that which Tarzan had found was a deadly thing and not meant to be discovered at all. Whatever it was that they called "matrimonial bliss" was about to be seriously and wildly interrupted for the first time in the three weeks since their wedding.  

Nikki was first made aware of the desperation of the situation by the occurrence of an earthquake. Well, at least it FELT like an earthquake. And she had just been having the loveliest dream when it all caved in on her. She came to with a shriek. The bed was rocking violently and she clutched desperately at the covers to keep from being unceremoniously dumped out. Twas to no avail. She was accordingly dumped. 

She landed with a thud to rival the earthquake itself and lay still on the floor for a moment, stunned and dazed. A head peeked over the edge of the bed, the eyes of which were dancing wildly. A little TOO wildly. She was instantly on alert. Something must be very wrong indeed. 

And something most certainly was. It was bigly and largely and all over wrong.  Grown men did not unceremoniously dump their beloved wives of no long acquisition out of bed, and then bounce on that same and now empty bed with reckless abandon, nearly taking out the ceiling fan. They just didn’t. So Rich must be something else entirely, because that’s precisely what he was doing. She hadn’t known bed springs even could bounce people that high. One good introduction between noggin and ceiling settled him down slightly, though, and he flipped hastily back on the pillows and proceeded to fire squishmallows at innocent things around the room instead. 

She stared at him, dazed. She couldn’t wrap her head around what had wound him up like this. He was being worse than Flubber, and she half wondered if maybe a science lab blew up with him in it. That might explain it. Only he must’ve swallowed the Flubber, and that was why he was going crazy.

There was a resounding crash on the other side of the room, and Rich’s eyes went wide. He was startled just as badly as she was.

Because there…. On the farthest side of their room, in brilliant and muchly-improved-in-appearance red and blue and green splinters, lay Rich’s pineapple lamp. And he looked as though he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He had gotten very attached to that lamp, particularly because Nikki looked sidewise at it every time she passed, and squinted so as not to see it. 

He mourned its passing for a moment, thorough regret filling his eyes. Because it couldn’t be tears. 

And then the caffeine whirling through his system took over again, and he started at it with a flying leap. His flying leap was aborted mid flight because Nikki, spurred on to action by glimmers of catastrophe, had taken firm hold on one foot, and he fell back on the bed with a loud whump. 

He flipped over on his back and stared at her reproachfully. 

She dropped the foot, but not her stance. 

“Huh-uh, buddy. You ain’t gettin’ nowheres near that mess, not in your condition!”

She shivered at the thought. “Prob’ly cut off a finger while you were at it. So you just leave well enough alone, y’hear?"

"Gotta fix it!" Rich cried desperately and made another lunge for the shattered lamp. That was definitely not going to happen, no matter what. At last Nikki had a plausible excuse to rid herself of the disgusting thing and she wasn't about to lose this chance. She grabbed Rich again and before he could propel himself off the bed, which meant she had to move at the speed of greased lightning, she sat on him.

"Now you listen to me, Tarzan," she spoke sternly and he grinned impudently up at her. It was rather infuriating. "Why don't you explain what on earth is the matter with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me," he laughed, pushing her off and rolling off the bed. "Found the espresso machine, by the way, gonna go make some more." And he cartwheeled out of the room, apparently having forgotten the fragments of pineapple lamp.

"ESPRESSO!" Nikki yelled after him, scrambling to her feet to chase him down. "Why, that's EXACTLY what is wrong with you! Richard Wiens, don't you dare lay a finger on that machine, so help me..."