So I get into bed last night. Ray jumps in before me and spreads out in the only place that will make it impossible for me to lie down in one piece.

I start mumbling to myself something about having rights too when I have one of my epiphanies.

I could ask him to move. In fact he’s a little dog. I could move him.

So I picked him up and put him over to the other side of the bed while explaining the concept of coexistence, something that he obviously flatly refused to embrace because he just went back to his original space.

You know it’s very comfortable sleeping across the top of the bed where the pillows usually go.

If you people have ever read my niece Julie’s book “Please Excuse My Daughter” (and if you haven’t go right out and get it because it’s a laugh riot) you know about the unfortunate relationship she had with an ex con (nothing violent, just a bank robber) who took her for thousands of dollars.

I say “took her” when in fact she lent it to him to rescue a member of his family or something. Considering the fact that in her early twenties she and I spent years playing cards and watching “Judge Judy” I can’t tell you how disappointed I was in her for being so stupid.

But I digress. Every once in awhile she must regret both her dopiness and the loss of money that she could really use now. I was proven right when she called me the other night at about 8 p.m.

It seems that Violet was visiting her father and Julie was working on her new book while  sipping wine (I’m guessing) when she too got an epiphany (we get a lot of them in our family).

I answer the phone, no hello, no nothing, “I have a plan”

“And it is?”

“Let’s go to Brooklyn and get my money back from that fucker”

“Sounds good, when?”

“Now?”

“I like it but maybe tomorrow would be better”

“Right, bye”

“Bye”

When I spoke to her the next morning she wasn’t sure of the details but she did recall phoning her friend Jancee when I didn’t deliver.

When Jancee saw Julie’s name on the caller id she was alarmed.

“Are you alright?”

“Sure, why?”

“It’s 8 o’clock”

Jancee is a very close friend and she knew Julie’s limits. When Jancee worked for Rolling Stone she’d hire Julie to interview celebrities but it had to be before her, Julie’s, bedtime or else she’d go in her pajamas with a coat over them.

The point of this story?

I can’t imagine how much wine I’d have to drink before I’d call my Aunt Iola to include her in rounding up a posse.