Scaramouche, Scaramouche, Will You Do the Fandango?

My work schedule requires me to go to bed at an early hour. ("Early to rise and early to bed makes a man healthy but socially dead." -- Yakko Warner) Last Friday night, I thought that the soundtrack of my dream was too loud, so I rolled over to change my dream. The music didn't stop. Plus, it was Middle Eastern or Indian-sounding music, not the type usually in my dreams. "Who on earth is playing their music this loudly in the middle of the night?" I wondered. Then I looked at the clock. It wasn't even 11 p.m.! (I used to think eleven o'clock was a decent hour. Now I think it's the middle of the night.)

I got dressed, went downstairs, and knocked on my neighbor's door. She didn't open the door, just yelled through it. Actually, she turned down the music to even hear me, then yelled through it. "Oh, do you have to work in the morning?" she asked, as if sleep only matters on work days. (The answer was yes, I did have to work Saturday morning.)

I thought it peculiar that she didn't open the door and speak face-to-face. I pondered that she was in a state of undress. I couldn't tell anything from her silhouette. Was she exuberantly dancing? Was she "entertaining" a guest? And does she really need to turn the music up that much to do so? The world may never know.