Marty and I have been forced to move to a zero tolerance policy when it comes to food in bed. In that I eat bread, french fries and watermelon with a fork, one can surmise that I'm not the one munching Trisquits or M&M's immediately before my slumber without the aid of a plate or utensils. So, the rule truly goes that Marty may no longer snack in bed while flitting through a magazine or grading papers. Now many will think this is just some sleeping with the enemy kind of antic on my part, but I assure you it is not. This missive was born in the pre-dawn hours many seasons ago after I was rocketed from a deep sleep due to rolling over a Snyder's pretzel shard that about sheared off what makes Troy a boy. (and, for all of my 'friends' thinking of the psuedo witticisms you would place here if this were a conversation, allow me to refer you of the medium being used and remind you that I can't hear you. so there.)