By David Leonhardt

NOTE: None of this actually happened to us, so it really shouldn't be on this website. But it is one of my funniest columns (in my humble opinion), so I just had to include it.

"There are two kinds of people in the world: givers and takers. Takers might eat well, but givers sleep better at night." Aha!

Your humble scribe has not been sleeping well lately. See photo. I thought it might have something to do with the stress of keeping pace with a tornado toddler and an almost bursting-at-the-seams, over-pregnant wife, all the while fending back the weeds threatening to overrun the house and take over the kingdom, even while renovating an old room with crooked walls and a slanted floor to become a modern nursery for our Beany-Baby-to-be, and somehow trying to earn a few dollars to keep my ever-so-friendly and oh-so-understanding bank manager from gleefully slapping "past-due" stickers all over my front door.

NOTE: OK, all that stuff above is true. It’s the stuff below that is fiction.

Now I learn that my lack of sleep is from taking too much and not giving enough. So I set out to give as much as I could.

I decided to start by giving advice. "The blue would look better on you."

"What?" my wife asked.

"The blue would look better on you," I repeated.

"You never comment on what I'm wearing, at least not voluntarily."

"It's my new sleep therapy," I explained with excitement. "Givers sleep better than takers, so I just gave you some advice."

"Well, while you're at it, is there anything else you want to give me?"

I saw my chance to give a compliment. "Overall, you are really beautiful."

"Why, thank you."

I was on a roll. I was really giving. This was my chance to give her my opinion. "Your hair is kind of ugly like that."

"What?! You take that back!"

"No, I can't," I protested. "That would make me a taker and I won't be able to sleep."

"Then you can just take your silly opinions and get out of here."

"No, I can't do that. I can't take ..." My sentence was cut short by the hard realization that my nose and a door could not occupy the same space at the same time.

I called up my mother. "Hi mom. I thought I would give you a quick call."

"How sweet. You took the time to call your mother."

"No. No. I didn't take anything," I protested.

"Oh yes you did, dear. You even took my advice to call more often. And you took account of your mother's feelings. And you took ... Hello? Hello? Hmm. I think he took off."

I just could not take any more. I scrambled out the door, the receiver still dangling from the table.

I had to take off. No, that would just keep me from sleeping. I saw my neighbor. Surely I could give him a hand.

"Sorry. I'm relaxing right now." He studied the stress engraved upon my face. "You look like you could use some sleep. Why don't you take a break, too."

"No, I can't take a break. Takers don't sleep well at night."

"Well," he laughed good naturedly. "At least you're taking a stand on something."

"I am NOT taking a stand," I protested. I was beginning to feel like a career protester in full flight.

"Take it easy, fellow."

Yikes! My neighbor was turning me into an extreme taker. I darted back toward my house.

"Take care," my neighbor called after me.

"Noooooooooo" I screamed with my hands over my ears.

Crouched in the safety of my favorite closet corner, I tallied up the day. I gave advice, a compliment and my opinion. So far, so good. I took it back, my silly opinions, the time, my mother's advice and account of my mother's feelings, off, a break, a stand, it easy and care. I gave three times and took ten times. Not a stellar record.

No wonder I wasn't sleeping well at night. I was truly a taker. There was nothing left to do but to take a sleeping pill. That should give me at least five hours of sleep, give or take a few.