SugarCube's Insomniac Asylum

We lived in a beehive of college student housing. Rain sent me running up two flights of stairs, head covered with the unlikely hat of my shirt collar pulled up over my neck, when it happened.

I flung open the door, tore off my shirt, flung it aside, and shouted, 'Honey. I am home," while beating my chest like Tarzan.

I blinked the steady pelt of rain from eyes, hair acting like a mop spraying it everywhere as I noticed what I thought was the neighbor next door cuddled up over who I thought was my wife on the couch.

It wasn't.

I'd mistaken the way home in my hurry. I'd broken in on a surprise visit to the 'obviously' happily married couple in the midst of a torrid moment. They made their pronouncement together.

"I want you to leave this house."

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