The scene: Last week. 2:30am. The Burgh family and their many prisoners were all sleeping soundly in the Parental Unit's bed. Suddenly, a scream shattered the monotony of rolling thunder-like Bulldog snores. The Toddler shot straight up in the bed, screaming as if someone were plucking out her toenails with pliers.

Mother-type figure (while burying head under pillow): What's wrong, Alexis?

Alexis: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Mother-type figure: Alexis, use your words. What. is. wrong.

Alexis (stammering): I wan . . . want Mick . . . key bed.

Mother-type figure (drowsily): What?

Alexis (still crying): I want Mickey bed.

The mother-type figure wondered to herself if an elephant has sat on the Toddler's legs, preventing her from walking the path to the precious Mickey-covered bed in her room--the same path she had traveled in reverse just an hour earlier. Perhaps someone installed One-Way Hallway signs? A stop sign? A brick wall?

Mother-type figure: Then go get in Mickey bed.

Alexis (sobbing): WAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Mother-type figure: If you want your bed, go get in your bed.

Alexis (sobbing): WAAAAAAAAAH!

The mother-type figure slammed the warm, cozy blankets to the side, snatched the Toddler up into her arms, and stormed back into the kid's room. She sort of (but not really) gently laid the Toddler down into the aforementioned Mickey bed, and thrust the rat-faced blankets up over the Toddler's chest.

Alexis: Zzzzzzzzzzzz.

The mother-type figure: You have GOT to be kidding me.

Just about precisely 24 hours later, the mother-type figure learned that the Toddler was not, in fact, kidding as they replayed the entire scenario all over again. She was not amused.