This morning, I woke up slightly before my 7a.m. alarm. When this happens, I roll over and press up against my girlfriend. Her skin is always slightly warmer and softer than mine, so she makes a fine body pillow. Some call this behavior “spooning.”

The issue with “spooning,” as the Swiss refer to it, is that human beings have arms. Two, to be precise. And the specific issue with my “spooning” is the my arm from wrist to elbow crook is significantly longer in length than my girlfriend’s ribcage when lying on her side. So my arm can either interrupt her sleep and sneak up under hers, or just rest gently on her hip or thigh.

I chose the slightly more courteous but uncomfortable position, one arm pinned under my head, elbow pointed up as though I were scratching my back by reaching over my shoulder and the other on display at the promontory of her hip.

It is important at this time that you have a clear visual.

Then, the lunar surface of my butt began to itch. Just a harmless, innocuous tingle where my legs meet my backside. By this time, I had slid into delirious slumber and to be awakened by such a thing indicated a false urgency to the scratching. So I set about the task with my free hand, vigorously clenching and unclenching my hand. My girlfriend stirred, and I realized the itch had not abated. I felt no change.

Then she squirmed, and to my chagrin and embarrassment, I had actually been trying to scratch *her* rump, which accomplished nothing except to give her a frenetic early morning goose.

The morning continued much in this vein. As I left the bathroom after my ablutions, in hunt of foodstuffs, I heard a clear voice from the bed, “Are you going to flush or is it Earth Day or something?”

I complied, still lingering in a somnambulent fog. My bed-mate was clearly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed after her encounter with my phantom itch. She continued, “I know I’ll be gone for the weekend, you trying to get it all in before I go? Because you’ll see me between 5:30 and 5:15, as well, if you feel the need to scramble my butt again.”

“Huh?” I said, the eloquent charmer me.

“5:45, sorry. I forgot we’re living forward in time now. Must have scrambled my brain, too.” she said with a grin.

“Well, that is where you keep it,” I said. Bump, set, spike!

Should you need inspiration for comedy, I recommend the complete intoxication that comes from lack of sleep.