I’m not a napper. I never have been a napper, except occasionally on days of heavy pregnancy or narcotic influences. Unlike My Beloved, who can drop off anywhere and anytime, it’s simply not in my nature. There’s a little voice in my head that chants “things to do, things to do, things to doooooo…” which naturally is a wee bit of a distraction when one is trying to court the Sandman.

Today, however, right after reading Science and History to my middles, I was sitting on the couch, minding my own business, when The Sandman sneaked up behind me and went all Chuck Norris on my noggin. One minute I was about to get up and do math with Emma, the next minute I was slumped on the cushions, drooling.

To add insult to injury, he made certain that my face was resting peacefully upon a pleated pillow. For two hours.

When I finally awoke and staggered to my feet, the day was waning fast. The voice in my head was shrieking things to do things to do thingstodo THINGSTODOOOO!!!! I dashed into the bathroom to smooth my hair and prepare for my far-too-frequent foray to the evil, alien-run megagroceryopolis, when I saw my right cheek.

I was imprinted.

Severely.

I rubbed. I lotioned. I did facial stretching exercises. And I waited. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Twenty. Rubrubrubrub…repeat…

Still there. Undiminished in their spectacular depth and symmetry, they covered my right cheek like some sort of Star-Trek, The Next Generation alien makeup. I was a refugee aboard the Enterprise, rescued from a doomed planet and destined for relocation. Only without Captain Picard there to soothe my ragged nerves with dulcet assurances.

oh jean-luc! where were you in my hour of need?

Nothing screams OLD! OLD! YOU’RE GETTING OLD!!!!!!!!!!!! like pillow-face that will not fade. In my twenties those lines would have smoothed out with one smile. In this case the only one smiling was The Sandman. In fact, I was fairly certain I heard him having an all-out fit of hysteria somewhere in the clouds above.

I went to Wal Mart anyway. I once saw a guy there wearing a hat on his head fashioned from a sweatpant leg. And considering this website, I guess a woman with a topographical map for a face is pretty small potatoes, after all.