I hate waking up once I’m in either a good sleep or a semi good sleep but very warm. However, waking up and seeing :44 on my clock made me think “Oh crikes!” (Not strictly true but you know, universal rating of a blog post), you can imagine the nice surprise when my brain clocks (clocks, get it?!) the great big red 5 next to it – a whole 30 minutes left to doze!
From there, my morning descended. My towel for my shower was cold and unwelcoming, the wheelchair covered in cat hair thanks to the resident mog. I had to replace the head on my toothbrush because it was covered in blonds strands of Monkey hair.
I usually go on the motto of “if I’m having to suffer I’d prefer not to go through it alone” but frankly, MBW would be pretty hacked off at getting up after a night with Nuzzle and Scratch playing “how much sleep can we deprive Mummy of”. So I got on with it. Heating on (sorry MBW), towel warmed – shower, drip dry, teeth brushed, spray odorant (wet crip) on to my towel, beard fresher on to the wheelchair – I’m good to go provided I’m visiting a naturist reserve.
I find my clothing with little problems, making a mental note to get more trousers in for dry cleaning and remembering to grab my work pass. Lunch out the fridge, glance down and where the Fallugian protestor is my wedding ring?”
I wheel into the bedroom and hunt through yesterdays trousers, turning up only a little red round lego light brick (which I have put back in my ring pocket on my cargo trousers – do not let me forget) and a Trading Standards Buy With Confidence trolley coinage thing. Crumbs.
I dash into the bathroom, not spying it amongst the wealth of toothbrushes, toothbrush heads, toiletries and whatever the heck that sticky stuff is on the base of the mirror – I don’t want to know, its blue, its gooey and frankly looks a little like it could be a new life form but I do not want to know right now it is 07:15 and I am running out of time and my taxi will be here in a minute and I want to go out the door looking like I might actually be married god help the woman who is married to this one.
In instances where you have lost something, you should consider what Winnie the Pooh might do in this instance. Find a nice place to call your thinking spot. A pot of honey to help lubricate the cranial juices. Relax to allow your self to cast your mind back and…
The bloody cat has got it. She’s located it on the kitchen windowsill, where I put it last night to wash up and is playing with it. I dash in hissing at her to bugger off. On the one morning when hissing should work, she ignores me and nudges it on to the kitchen side (remind me to disinfect beside the sink) and along as I now have to stand for a moment and wobble towards her. She looks up – I swear she winks at me – giving it one last kick towards the gap between the cooker and the side, it turning up on to the outer edge and rolling, rolling, rolling…
it rolls to the edge and stops. No body breathe. The cat, guessing her nine lives could be cut down rapidly, makes a brisk exit towards a hiding place I have yet to discover. I grab at the ring, shoving it on to the correct finger and therefore confirm my place in this wedlock as the husband.
I shove my lunch in my bag, grab keys, pass, phones and laptop and leave, returning only for my coat and shoes.