. . . I woke up and found her in the kitchen searching the refrigerator. . . .
Coincidentally, I wrote a song about that once:
"Midnight Snack"
copyright Leon Fullerton
I woke up at midnight to an empty bed.
Where was my baby? My heart was full of dread.
I heard a thump from down the hall. Could it be a burglary?
A light shone from the kitchen. I tiptoed down to see.
That's when I caught my baby fooling around behind my back.
That's when I caught my baby having a midnight snack.
Her head was stuck in the fridge, like a botched-up suicide,
a stack of Tupperware containers tottered by her side.
She was excavating coldcuts from the back of the bottom rack.
I said, "Babe, you'll catch your death in there! Come on back to the sack!
The night I caught my baby sneaking around behind my back.
The night I caught my baby having a midnight snack.
She had a Ring-Ding in her fist, she had a drumstick in her mouth,
she had a strange light in her eye, like her mind had traveled south.
It was a case of midnight munchies, the worst I ever saw.
Should I run to get a doctor? Should I notify the law?
The night I caught my baby slipping around behind my back.
The night I caught my baby having a midnight snack.
She finally got it all to the table. It took her seven trips.
Then she dealt herself a Dagwood that would defy a gator's lips.
When she finally got down to it, I saw how it would be.
If you can't lick 'em, join 'em: "Honey, make some room for me!"
The night I caught my baby messing around behind my back.
The night I caught my baby having a midnight snack.
