When I have to work early, I stealthily roll out of bed, tip-toe to bathroom by the light of my phone, making sure to quietly close the door behind me and get dressed. Then, I sneak in the kitchen, make a pot of coffee like a ninja, grab the lunch I made the night before, and gently kiss my husband on the forehead before I glide out the door.
On my day off – his fog horn alarm set at maximum volume blares through the neighborhood, waking the dead. He grunts and moans, tossing and turning before he finally let’s out a loud sigh and jerks the blankets off the bed as he stumbles to the floor. He turns on the lights as he makes his way to the bathroom, shuffling through the house like herd of elephants, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. As he fumbles with the coffee pot, making sure to clank every mug against each other, he continues to grunt and burp and I’m sure he has a megaphone under his shirt. Once he finally has all his shit together, he comes back to the brightly lit bedroom, tells me to have a good day and says, “Please try to get some rest, baby.”
…I WAS TRYING.