Wednesday

This morning I had one of those mornings when trading off showering time for staying in bed an extra 10-15 minutes is unavoidable. It was chilly and dark, and my husband was warm and cuddly. The fat cat was plastered on the back of my neck, all fat and warm and purring squeakily. Even the dogs didn't get up when the alarm went off. Let's repeat that: the dogs didn't get up right away, which is a blessed event in our house. And the bed? The bed was so soft. Everything was dark, safe, and cozy.

Ten minutes later the dogs shook themselves awake and thundered into the bedroom while the alarm went off again. The only radio station it picks up is the local station. In the morning they give the weather report (poorly) over and over. The announcer blared, "Currently, uh, 37 degrees here. And let's see, winds, oh..." (pause) "Um, the winds, ohhhh...." (pause) "Winds are at" (shuffling papers audible) "ohhh, about five miles per hour this morning." And then I yelled something cranky about "WHY EVEN BOTHER REPORTING THAT?" and the dogs were slipping all over the hardwood floor, nails probably digging in deep, their collars and tags jangling noisily, shoving their cold snotty noses in our faces. The fat cat bit J's knuckle because he wanted to be fed, already, and then started his daily morning Yowl Until Fed Ritual. Monk showed J his new trick, the unfortunate new trick I already had witnessed, and that is that he can turn on the lamp. He figured out it is a touch lamp, and has been nosing it on in the morning for me, the big drooly jerk. So he did that, and then the dogs just completely went ape-shit because, hey! It is morning! The lights are on! Let's GO LET'S GO LET'SGOLET'SGO AAAAAAAH! While galloping wildly around the bed they tripped and unplugged all the cords. J was yelling at them and getting out of bed in the dark when the lower leg on the bed frame finally broke (it got bent up and damaged when we moved, so it was expected) and the bottom corner of the bed fell to the floor with a little settling thwump.

So we got up and put on sweatshirts to take out the dogs, and put contacts into our blurry burning eyes, and shuffled out into the cold dark garage to put on leashes. The light bulb had burned out, so we were fumbling in the dark with the leashes while the dogs cantered around our legs. And then Cab threw up. Twice.

And so began Wednesday morning, the worst morning of the week because the fresh new week scent has worn off, but there is still so much week left.

We stood in the cold black morning, and gazed up at the brittle fiery stars while the dogs waged dueling pee marathons. My husband muttered, "There's the fucking Big Dipper." I love him. And he loves me, even though later while he was drying off from his shower I was unconsciously humming the Great Big Universe Song from Animaniacs. He stepped into our messy bedroom and started quoting the lyrics, even the Mickey Rooney ones, and I know when I get home from work tonight we'll walk those bad dogs and talk about our jobs and crawl back into bed and be in love.

I swear I'll shower tonight,
black sheeped