And then there was Frieda. One of those big, flappy night insects, she was seated quite comfortably on my curtain, in front of the open window (note: open window... this is an important point in the story). I said "Hello", politely, as my mother taught me to do on encountering visitors. She was a big, flappy insect, as I said, but not quite big enough to see her little head nod in acknowledgement, but I'm sure it did.
From then on, we got on with our own things - me getting ready for bed, her doing whatever it is that big, flappy insects sitting on curtains do. Maybe flossing her teeth? Only later did I work out what it was she had done. And then I turned off my light to go to sleep. And sleep (oh delight!) I did, after my abortive night the night before.
That is, until my alarm decided, at about 2:23am, to throw a hissy fit, for no reason. It woke everybody up, including half the neighbourhood I'm sure. After much fumbling and cursing, the plug was pulled out. Alarm guys came today. I don't want to talk about it.
I slept again until, through my dozy haze I heard flapping and bumping and flapping. Frieda. Trying desperately to go somewhere. Obviously not out, as the window was open (see above) and she was throwing herself at the walls, one at a time, then ignoring the (open!) door and throwing herself against the ceiling. Her poor flappy wings bashed loudly against each of these (very obvious) barriers, but Frieda continued.
And it was then that I realised. Frieda had not been flossing her teeth while she sat sedately on my curtain... She'd been taking out her contact lenses. Doh.