Getting out of Bed

I'd like to walk you through a typical morning in the Wolfe household.  Not the whole morning, just the part between waking up and actually getting out of bed.  Give me the simple task of throwing back the covers and touching my feet to the floor, and I'll give you a blog post.

One day a week, Hubs and I both get to sleep in on the same day.  For the rest of the days, Hubs wakes up during the single-digit AM hours like a normal person while I sleep late like a bum with a part-time job and a blog that is "really about to make it big."

Hubs abhors sunlight.  The first time I ever visited his dorm room, back when he was still Future Hubs, a black towel was tucked across the lone window in place of real curtains.

I have a theory that Hubs is secretly some kind of hybrid bat-person.  He is aware of my theory, yet he has never refuted it.

Unfortunately for hybrid-bat-person-Hubs, I can't feel fully awake unless intense beams of sunlight shine directly onto my eyeballs.

So we decided to compromise and choose curtains that would provide the exact amount of sunlight I crave, while painfully searing Hubs' retinas every morning.

When I wake up and see the sunlight streaming through my adorable, paper-thin yellow curtains, my immediate impulse is to greet the glorious day that has already been underway for several hours now.

As I open the curtains, Hubs usually groans miserably, or hisses.  Sometimes he hisses.  I think he's just doing it to be funny, probably.

I apologize to Hubs for letting the sun melt his face off, but I'm only partly sincere because by this point the sunlight has stimulated some hardcore serotonin production in my brain.

This was an actual conversation.

Once Hubs has closed the curtains to protect his precious "sight," we proceed to play a game of chicken to determine who will get out of bed first, because neither of us wants to leave the bed while the other person is still warm and comfy.  It just seems like the worst conceivable form of injustice. 

The logical choice here would be for both of us to just get out of bed at the same time.

You would think.

We stopped even trying to be fair about it a long time ago.

Lately, we've begun resorting to radical measures to drive each other from the bed.  At this point, it's not even really about getting out of bed anymore.  It's about winning, and guile, and brute strength.

The only problem with the face-licking tactic is that it quickly devolves into a face-licking stalemate.

Eventually, the conflict resolves itself without any real problem-solving on our part; otherwise we'd still both be in bed to this day, wallowing in our own filth and licking each others' faces.

And this is why I will never accomplish anything in life.

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