Not to brag, but I come from a long line of nappers. It's woven into my DNA. I'm sure my ancestors napped in their shtetls. My grandma would nap at every play, performance, and talk we attended. She'd be snoring as soon as the house lights went down. And my dad is a world-class napper. He conks out after a few hours of light housework on the weekends. I worked with him for a year after college and every day at 1pm he'd flick off his office lights, rest his head on his desk and set sail on a snooze cruise for 15 minutes. I respected it in much the same way I respect Nicholas Cage's acting career: I held a quiet reverence for his commitment to his art.
In college, I'd try to offset my tendency to fall asleep in my afternoon classes by sitting in the front row. I hoped that the high visibility of my seat would discourage me but I'd still nod off without fail. It'd just be more embarrassing because instead of falling asleep in the back with the burnouts and space cadets, I'd be up front five feet away from my professor with my chin tucked into my chest drooling like an old dog. If the lights were turned off for any reason like a Powerpoint presentation or a short film, I'd totally pass out, slumping over my desk like I was auditioning for the role of drunk bum #2.
Even now I still love a great nap. And after a long half-day of waking up, showering, putting on my makeup, walking to brunch, eating a shitton of carbs and walking back to his house, naturally I got sleepy. And that's when things got weird because he refused to let me take a nap.
"If you're tired, go home then," he shrugged. My eyes were droopy and I was having yawning fits and he had the audacity to suggest that I operate an automobile in this state? That's not only rude, but it's dangerous!
|This is napper discrimination!|
If the tables were turned and he was like, "Yo, I need to grab some shut-eye for a minute," I'd be like, "Go ahead, fine sir. Do you need a blanket? Want me to pop some Beethoven on for you? Would you care for some chamomile tea? Or a foot rub? We could watch The Matrix. That always puts me to sleep."
I'd turn my bedroom into a napper's paradise for him with lots of furry pillows and plush throw blankets. Think "I Dream of Jeannie"'s lamp meets Nev Schulman's chest hair and we're getting close.
|This is prime napping chest hair, right here|
Fuck nap-shamers in their goddamn face! Was that too harsh? Well, if you'd let me take my nap, It would've have gone that far.