I was running down a few of the zombies that had infested my birthday party preparation to gnaw on the furniture. They were everywhere, and as soon as I struck one with the very over-sized fly-swatter, another one appeared. I would never be ready when the guests arrived. And then, the dull ring of the doorbell. Except it was my phone, and it was time to get wake up again and get out of bed.
Five minutes later I have battled with myself to swing my legs out over the side of the bed. I’m sitting there, steeling myself so I don’t lean over and fall back down on the oh so inviting pillow to sleep just five minutes more. Just look at how soft and warm and comfy… Five minutes, it’s all I ask.
But I have to get up.
In the other room, the impossibly cheery man I’m married to huff and puff on the floor as he does his morning gymnastics. Obscenly enough, he does push-ups and sit-ups. It’s seven flipping o’clock in the morning. I will never get used to that, no matter how many years and decades we are together. There are certain things you don’t do before morning tea if you want to call yourself a proper human.
I only catch a glimpse of him as he passes by the bedroom door and slink into our upstairs bathroom, and a minute later the sound of running water from the shower reach me. I’m still sitting on the bed, slightly more ready to face the trials of the day. But the pillow still looks so inviting. Why can’t I just sleep a minute more?
Since the upstairs bathroom is occupied, I resolve myself to an awake state and stand up, and go down to the bathroom below to do my morning business. When I emerge again, he once more passes me. His red short hair sticks everywhere, and is still wet, as if he hasn’t towelled it dry at all. In the kitchen he takes one look at me, and then fills up our electric kettle. I open the fridge and stare into it, unblinking and drooling. The cold blast is invigorating against my skin, and gives me the energy to do what I should do; take out the butter, the jam, the cereal, and the yoghurt.
I’m human enough when I turn around and see him leaned over the kitchen table, while he waits for the kettle, to give him his morning kiss on the chin. He needs a shave, and I tell him so, but he just shakes his head. “We have to clean out the upstairs loo first,” he says.
“We did two days ago,” I object. “Yeah, but they’re back again.” Huh? “The zombies. They must have crawled in through the window. I caught one gnawing on the shower door.” He looks so serious when he says that, and then there is the dull ring of the doorbell. Except it’s my phone, and it’s the snooze repeat of the alarm. The pillows were really inviting, and I fell for it. I battle with myself to swing my legs over the side of the bed. Just five minutes more sleep, all right?
Just five more minutes…
Note: This is a draft of a vignette I was toying with. It didn’t actually happen; it’s just a collection of true things combined into a narrative. It needs more polish, but I’m going to submit it to a competition. I could win a prize. 🙂