Herkamer's middle of the night ambition has disturbed Gertrude's sleep over and over again. His sudden obsession for a motorcycle found him plundering through the office, dropping the printer, and now he has decided that he needs to practice riding a motorcycle in the middle of the living room at three o'clock in the morning. He had just slammed the bicycle into the coffee table and knocked over a lamp...
As quietly as possible, Herkamer tried to rearrange the furniture to accommodate the bicycle. He was totally oblivious to the noise he was making and continued to align the bicycle in front of the television. Herkamer straddled the bike, leaned over as though he was riding in the wind, and began making motor noises. “Baroooooommmmmmmmm, Brum, brum, brum, brum, brum,” he pretended to start the engine. “ Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Waaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa” he raced through the gears, and acted as though he was racing down the highway. He pretended to be outrunning the other motorcycles, race cars, and the police. He was totally wrapped up in his imagination when he looked over to the hallway. There stood Gertrude with her arms crossed, tapping her foot, and with a face that was so angry that paint was soon to be melting off the walls. “HERKAMER MERTON!” she said through gritted teeth, “I AM TRYING TO SLEEP!”
Now, Herkamer heard one time that a man could be nagged to death, but he also knew that there was no wrath like a woman's scorn, which to him seemed a lot worse than the continual drip of nagging. He apologized, and with a sheepish boy-like look slowly dismounted the bicycle. Gertrude turned abruptly and walked back to the bedroom. The slamming door was just an exclamation mark on her ranting, but as soon as the door was shut, Herkamer...
Stay tuned tomorrow. Same blog time. Same blog spot. Until tomorrow...Why Say More?
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