Friday morning started like any other. The alarm goes off, we press snooze. Nine minutes pass. The alarm goes off. We press snooze. Nine more minutes pass. I got up and convinced Sheena that she really
needs to get ready for work. I lurched
toward the kitchen to fetch the anti-zombie juice, more frequently referred to
as coffee.
In an attempt to live a healthier lifestyle, Sheena has been
eating breakfast. After dressing, she
tried to prepare oatmeal with honey in our galley kitchen while Lillian emptied
the dishwasher. This should not be a
difficult task.
2. Drizzle honey over oatmeal.
3. Pour milk.
This morning it went more like this.
2. Reach for the honey and drop it out of the cabinet onto the edge of said bowl.
3. Wonder what the fuck happened to cause the oatmeal explosion.
I heard the “explosion” and came around the corner to see
what happened. I saw the oatmeal with
honey in places I never knew it could be; on the upper cabinets, on the side of
the refrigerator, on Lillian, on the dog, and most amusing, on the front of
Sheena’s pants.
Me: “What happened?”
Grumpy Gus: “I don’t
know! Get me the broom or something!”
I know Sheena’s not a morning person and she’s clearly not
awake, so I buttoned my lip and went to fetch the broom from the
porch. Grumbling under my breath at her abrasiveness,
I grabbed the broom and muttered to myself, “It’s ‘Get me the broom, please’.” Clearly I was not awake either, because on my
way back into the house I missed the cement step and down I went like London
Bridge.
Sweet Lil was the first to show concern. Perhaps it was because, as she said, “I saw your
legs and butt fly up in the air and you crashed down.” She came running to see if I was okay,
followed by a now jolted-awake Sheena.
Oh, it’s funny now.
Even with a bruised and swollen rug-burned elbow, a scraped calf and shin, and
back spasms.
But really. Sheena
needs to get up earlier.
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