Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise it has but one rule: make it Six Sentences, binyons

Prompt word:

DIP

“Honey, wake up,” the man heard his wife’s voice as if from a distance, the part of his brain that controlled dreaming, the metaphorical oblongata stirred into action, words became a howling wind, a hand gently-shaking his shoulder now a boulder of tremendous proportion and the very familiar there-not-there-there soft mass of her breasts the inevitable avalanche of a glacier, with just a hint of suffocation.

“Wow,” the man turned towards the woman; her waves of sleep-conspired hair tumbling off his face, pooling on his shoulder, even as their years together made the nano-scraping of her eyelashes on his throat a simple, if not affectionate demand he provide an explanation.

“You remember how, last night, I said I had nothing worth publishing in the Sis Sentence Story weekly bloghop,” awake now, he avoided the punctuation common to interrogatives, the writer-who-would-be-a-character rushed onwards with what he hoped would be a soliloquy…

“Yes, you were all grumpy and didn’t want to stay up and said something about dreaming up a story,” his wife’s interruption had sufficient arch to convince him to let go of his resentment at the lost allegory or whatever the term in rhetoric might be.

“Well, I gotta say, I had a dark and restless night,” they each laughed to themselves, the better to propel the narrative, “and I had the most amazing lucid dream / fan-fiction mashup ever; I found myself in an episode of Community knowing I had to write my story so I ran around an elementary school screaming how I needed a pen and paper; Annie Edison (Alison Brie) was there and she offered me one, complete with that uber-cute head tilt thing, but every piece of paper she gave me had writing on both sides, I was starting to get a little crazy,” the man, trying to raise his hand to prevent a comment, found it was trapped somewhere between his wife’s breast and arm was resigned to having to go full-on stream-of-consciousness, “And the first and second graders were running around and laughing when Jeff Winger (Joel McHale) burst through these double-doors like to an auditorium or cafeteria, with an older-but-still-hot woman on one arm and pointing at me, said with a triumphant rise in volume, “We’ll see you there tonight and don’t forget to bring…” and I shouted, “a good dip!!”

The man, turning towards his wife, further tourniquet-ing the couple to each other so almost all he had available to ask the big question were his eyes, desperate for approval but willing to settle for permission.

“Kinda meta,” the waterbed seemed to ebb an invisible inch of tide, “But I love the show so, I totally enjoyed your little story.”