“You’re Garfield. You’re a kitty and you hate Mondays.”
I had a reliable morning routine with J.. Our alarm would go off, one of us would smack it silent. Fifteen minutes later, ditto. Fifteen minutes after that I would poke and prod him to get up and shower with many protestations of showering after him, he’d get up, and I’d go straight back to sleep. The probability of whether or not I would shower depended utterly on whether or not I needed to wash my hair. I’d be awoken for the final time when he would march back into our bedroom and order me up.
With him gone, I’ve had to go back to pre-marriage mode of getting myself up like a big girl. And, minions, I do not like it. I am not, nor have I ever been, a morning person. These days mornings are cold, dark, and currently husband-less. I see no reason why I should have to leave the comforts of my bed, on a Monday in November.
I’m in a bit of a strop (if you couldn’t tell), so cheer me up this fine (wretched) morning! How was your weekend, my loves? I had a nephew’s baptism, a date with Margot, and the beginnings of seasonal shopping to leap into – and I’m not even talking Christmas. J., Venice, and my father all have their birthdays this coming week, Sadie and Pieter have a couples wedding shower next Monday, and I’ve a wedding to attend this weekend. I’ll be exhausted before Thanksgiving!