Jason thought I should title this ” State of Denial”. Damn morning people.
My husband leaned over to kiss me goodnight last night and lingered. I brushed him off, telling him I was too tired. He whined for a second and even threw in, “Are we ever going to have sex again?” I answered, “We had sex Saturday, it’s only Wednesday.” He looked at me blankly like — Yea. Exactly. It’s already Wednesday. That’s 4 days.
I laughed and pushed him away.
As he sulked on the other side of the bed, I turned around and flopped my arm on him and apologized. He shrugged. I said I had too much on my mind and that I loved him, but I was exhausted. And I am. See, I already need about 23 hours of sleep a night. I recently read a study about living longer and they said anyone who sleeps more than 2 hours a night (ok, it was 8 ) was actually hurting their health because they must be making up for hangover or something. Really? I’ve had one or two hangovers a week in my life, and regardless I could sleep forever.
Rip Van Winkle has nothing on me. I will think up every excuse I can when the alarm clock starts ringing.
I don’t need to wash my hair? A little ponytail holder and we’re good. Snooze.
I don’t need to put on make-up? I can do that in the office or in the car. Snooze.
I don’t need to make breakfast, don’t they serve it at school? Snooze.
I don’t really need a shower; I smell fine and it’s nothing a little deodorant and perfume can’t handle. Snooze.
I tell myself, “Self, it’s ok. Just use this time to pick out an outfit for work by visualizing your closet. ” Snooze.
Before it’s all over and done with, I’m basically jumping out of bed, grabbing my toothbrush, throwing together an outfit with a couple of pairs of shoes (so I can decide in the car which ones looks best) yelling at my children; “Mom overslept again, so let’s hurry! Sorry, no time for breakfast, I’ll run in a store and buy you doughnuts some fruit as a treat on the way to school…Chop-chop.”
Then I’ll let my daughter choose whatever clothes she wants and she’ll pick the smallest ill-fitting stained shirt she wore to bed sometime this past week, with an impossibly non-matching skirt and flip-flops — she would never purposely choose socks. I’ll throw them all in the car with my toothbrush still in my mouth and get halfway out of the driveway before realizing I don’t have my cell phone or make-up bag. Then I’ll hobble up the driveway with one shoe on, wave at my neighbors walking their dogs and all the while I’ll curse myself for not getting up sooner.
But at least I’ll be more awake for my marriage’s sake…