Apparently I don’t like mornings.
At least that’s the word on the street.
When the phone rang at 8 a.m. yesterday morning, I made no move to answer it. FringeMan, off because his shipment of lights was not shipping on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, answered the phone. When he hung up, he looked at me with a smirk and said, “So and SO (except he said her first name) said to have you give her a call when you’re up and about.”
Presumably I was still in bed.
I was, but that’s not the point. I was fully awake and semi-alert; however, I could have already been actively awake for three hours hand washing delicates and scrubbing floors with my toothbrush.
It was assumed I still lay in bed like a lifeless dog.
I was on holiday people!
I was having a dream.
After all, it was the theme for the day.
To add insult to injury, FringeMan sketched this picture of me today.
In the morning.
I was awake, but only semi-alert.
Living in shame,