The Woman In Albert's Bed
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After a hard day at work and a long night celebrating, Albert comes home to find a strange woman sleeping in his bed.
The Woman in Albert's Bed
Albert Fox blinked, rubbed his eyes, blinked again, removed his glasses, cleaned them on the front of his shirt, replaced them, and peered carefully through the semi-darkened room.
His mind refused to accept what his eyes were telling it. That was a bit strange. Usually his mind worked just fine, and generally didn't have any trouble at all understanding…well, most things, actually.
Yes, he thought blearily, his mind had functioned perfectly until...oh. Now he remembered. The payroll program. He and his co-workers had just spent seventeen solid hours trying to convince the computer that a decimal point was as vital a part of a paycheck as a dollar sign. That must be what had befuddled him so thoroughly.
No, wait. Maybe it was the beer. He vaguely recalled having three - or was it six? - beers with his team celebrating their victory over The Software Glitch from Hell.
That must be it, he thought. That would explain why he was having such a hard time accepting the fact that - he looked again, just to make sure - there was a woman in his bed.
Come to think of it, he wasn't actually sure why he was so convinced it was a woman. All he could really see was a large lump under the covers, some longish dark hair, and a hand sticking out from under the pillow.
Maybe this wasn't his room! “I'm such an idiot”, he moaned softly. He was drunk, he was tired, and he had wandered into Dirk's room by mistake.
He turned to go back to his own room when something caught his eye. Hey, hold on now… His roommate's bedspread was tie-dyed, with a giant peace sign in the center. This one was a sedate brown print. This one was…
“Mine,” he whispered, “I am in the right room.”
At that moment, the person in his bed made one of those sighing, humming noises that people make when they're trying to get comfortable and rolled onto her back.
He had been right. It was definitely a woman. Yes, she was very womanly in a generous, well-proportioned, topless sort of way.
Albert stood there for a moment, torn between the urge to stare and drool and the knowledge that the polite thing to do would be to cover her up so that no drunken men would come along and stare and drool at her.
His bladder interrupted his dilemma by reminding him that he had recently consumed six - or was it three? - beers, and it wanted his attention. Now.
On the way to the restroom, he decided that he'd sleep in Dirk's room- he assumed he wasn't home. But first, perhaps, coffee. He was still quite intoxicated. Perhaps caffeine would clear his head a bit.
In the bathroom, draped over the shower door was a damp blue flowered dress and a hanger, which was adorned with two ridiculously tiny scraps of lace that he could only assume were meant to be undergarments.
That explains the topless bit, then. Pleased that maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to get a handle on things, he wandered into the kitchen in search of coffee.
“Gah!” Albert's eyes, already tired from staring at a computer screen for seventeen hours, not to mention the time spent in a smoky bar while he drank six - or was it three? - beers, strongly objected to the bright fluorescent kitchen lights. Squinting, he staggered across the floor, bouncing off a cabinet and stubbing his toe on a table leg before sinking gratefully into a chair.
The first thing that he saw when his eyes adjusted was the note.
A friend needed a place to crash, so I gave her your bed. I would have given her mine, but I sold it.
“You sold your bed? What?” Albert routinely talked to himself, so took no notice of the fact that he was talking to the note as if it were actually Dirk.
So, I'm afraid you're on the couch tonight, old chap.
Dirk - even though he was American - called everyone “old chap”, regardless of age or sex. No one knew why, and everyone was afraid to ask.
Taking a bit of a holiday with Diane. Back on Tuesday.
“Diane? I thought her name was Linda.” Then he noticed the “over” at the bottom, and turn to the back of the page.
PS Linda and I broke up. If she stops by, tell her I want my Pink Floyd albums back and DON'T MENTION DIANE!!!
A few minutes later, having procured the much-needed cup of coffee, Albert wandered into the living room to inspect - with not a little horror - the couch.
`Couch' was not an accurate term for this particular piece of furniture. In fact, Albert was pretty sure that if, while under oath, one did refer to it by that name he would find himself facing legal trouble of some sort. Even `loveseat' was an astonishingly optimistic word.
It was an almost supernaturally ugly couch/loveseat shaped item that two people could share only if they were both supermodels and were terribly close friends. The only way that Albert could sleep on it would be to remove both legs, his head, and quite possibly the lower half of his torso.
“Absolutely no way”, he muttered, “No. Just…no.”
He set down his now-empty coffee cup with a decisive clink and, carried on a wave of indignation, marched down the hall to his room where a perfect stranger was sleeping in his king-sized bed.
“Let her sleep on that ridiculous excuse for the couch. She's the intruder. Besides, she's got to be at least a foot shorter than…” Albert stopped suddenly, nearly overbalancing. “…me…”
The bed thief had rolled onto her side while he was gone, leaving her back to the door, and the covers...were…Don't stare and drool, don't stare and drool,he admonished himself.Damn it Albert, stop looking at her a - is that a duck? Why would someone have a duck tattooed on their- oh god, he was staring again.
He tore his eyes away from the duck - for of course that was what he was looking at - and shook his head. That was a mistake. The room spun around him, his knees gave out, and he sat down heavily. On the bed.
Frozen, Albert carefully looked over his shoulder at the duck - no, at the woman. She made no sound or any indication that she was disturbed by his rather heavy landing. He eyed the large expanse of empty mattress. She really was rather small, and had rolled over to the far side, and there was an awful lot of room…
He wondered exactly what sort of ethics applied in this sort situation. He thought about the couch, and decided that even if violating those mythical ethics cast him immediately into Hell it would still be more comfortable than attempting to sleep on that monstrosity in the living room. With that thought firmly in his mind and his eyes gallantly averted, I swear that duck is staring at me he pulled up the covers, kicked off his shoes, and climbed into bed.
He really had no idea what the average naked woman's reaction would be to waking up in bed with a stranger. I guess we'll find out in the morning. With a mental shrug, Albert Fox closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
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