I Love Being a Girl
One of the first things my wife and I butted heads on shortly after getting married was the alarm clock. No leaving the seat up, leaving it down while standing, not squeezing the toothpaste right, blah, blah, blah. Oh no - it was the alarm clock. This was a two front battle at that.
Now I am a heavy sleeper, therefore an alarm clock has but one task before it as far as I'm concerned - wake me up. I get my slothful slumber genes honestly - my dad was the king of sleeping through just about anything. This being the case, until my betrothed came in to the picture, I always used the beep setting and would rarely even bother the radio.
This all came to a rather screeching halt one of the first mornings after the honeymoon (After the Honeymoon... hmm, sounds like a future blog post to me). Naturally, with the alarm on my side of the bed, I was charged with setting it, including deciding whether or not to use music or the beep. Also naturally, I chose beep. Let the record show that this was the last "naturally" thing I did.
When the alarm klaxon sounded the following morning, my brain started it's boot up sequence (do I have clean underwear?); little did I know that as part of my wife's boot up sequence was to literally stick a boot up something, especially when awakened to the bleeping beep. I though she was climbing on to me in a moment of newlywed fueled passion - I was wrong. Clearly, this angelic creature whom I had said "I do" to only a few weeks before had transformed at the sound of the beep to a badger. Shortly thereafter, it was decided, citing reasons of self-preservation, that music would be the wake up call of norm in our household.
One would think this made for smoother sailing. One would be wrong.
Fast forward a few months to a sleepy Saturday morning that we unfortunately had to set an alarm for. Now this being a Saturday, I was quite fond of taking my time to get out of the bed; I was even more fond of the snooze button. In the middle of one of these snoozes, the radio began to play a favorite song of the time, thus, I decided to listen whilst pondering the clean underwear conundrum.
Apparently, overnight, the badger had turned in to a rattlesnake. "Are you going to turn that off?!" came the screech, causing the dog downstairs to turn around three times and pee. Me, being a smart-allecky sort of fool, looked her square in the eyes. Realizing I was about to be eviscerated for noncompliance, I turned the radio completely off and backed away from the bed whilst waving a red ballon. (In the interest of fairness and me being allowed back in my house, she did apologize for snapping at me)
So this morning, I'm lying there in my bed, snoozing for seven minutes before being awakened by the alarm. Now recently, the format for the station we had it on changed; what used to be Lite 94.9, known for nauseatingly starting the Christmas season in March, was now 94.9 The Bull, a country station. Now country music is an area that I just simply tolerate, much in the way that the Christians and Muslims tolerated each other during the Crusades. During high school, I did develop an appreciation for Garth Brooks, Colin Raye, and even the classics such as Johnny Cash and George Jones. Shortly thereafter is when Shania Twain hit the scene, followed by Faith Hill and a host of other angelic looking country ladies singing about the greatness of being a woman. That's when I left the country music scene; I have too much testosterone raging through my body to fully understand the female mind. Besides, I love being a guy.
Except now I've got some song stuck in my head about how I should love being a girl, implanted in my brain from my clock radio that should have awakened me to Nat King Cole or Manheim Steamroller. Man, I feel like a woman.
Now I am a heavy sleeper, therefore an alarm clock has but one task before it as far as I'm concerned - wake me up. I get my slothful slumber genes honestly - my dad was the king of sleeping through just about anything. This being the case, until my betrothed came in to the picture, I always used the beep setting and would rarely even bother the radio.
This all came to a rather screeching halt one of the first mornings after the honeymoon (After the Honeymoon... hmm, sounds like a future blog post to me). Naturally, with the alarm on my side of the bed, I was charged with setting it, including deciding whether or not to use music or the beep. Also naturally, I chose beep. Let the record show that this was the last "naturally" thing I did.
When the alarm klaxon sounded the following morning, my brain started it's boot up sequence (do I have clean underwear?); little did I know that as part of my wife's boot up sequence was to literally stick a boot up something, especially when awakened to the bleeping beep. I though she was climbing on to me in a moment of newlywed fueled passion - I was wrong. Clearly, this angelic creature whom I had said "I do" to only a few weeks before had transformed at the sound of the beep to a badger. Shortly thereafter, it was decided, citing reasons of self-preservation, that music would be the wake up call of norm in our household.
One would think this made for smoother sailing. One would be wrong.
Fast forward a few months to a sleepy Saturday morning that we unfortunately had to set an alarm for. Now this being a Saturday, I was quite fond of taking my time to get out of the bed; I was even more fond of the snooze button. In the middle of one of these snoozes, the radio began to play a favorite song of the time, thus, I decided to listen whilst pondering the clean underwear conundrum.
Apparently, overnight, the badger had turned in to a rattlesnake. "Are you going to turn that off?!" came the screech, causing the dog downstairs to turn around three times and pee. Me, being a smart-allecky sort of fool, looked her square in the eyes. Realizing I was about to be eviscerated for noncompliance, I turned the radio completely off and backed away from the bed whilst waving a red ballon. (In the interest of fairness and me being allowed back in my house, she did apologize for snapping at me)
So this morning, I'm lying there in my bed, snoozing for seven minutes before being awakened by the alarm. Now recently, the format for the station we had it on changed; what used to be Lite 94.9, known for nauseatingly starting the Christmas season in March, was now 94.9 The Bull, a country station. Now country music is an area that I just simply tolerate, much in the way that the Christians and Muslims tolerated each other during the Crusades. During high school, I did develop an appreciation for Garth Brooks, Colin Raye, and even the classics such as Johnny Cash and George Jones. Shortly thereafter is when Shania Twain hit the scene, followed by Faith Hill and a host of other angelic looking country ladies singing about the greatness of being a woman. That's when I left the country music scene; I have too much testosterone raging through my body to fully understand the female mind. Besides, I love being a guy.
Except now I've got some song stuck in my head about how I should love being a girl, implanted in my brain from my clock radio that should have awakened me to Nat King Cole or Manheim Steamroller. Man, I feel like a woman.
posted by misawa at 10:15 AM
2 Comments:
So far, so good, we haven't had to worry about it. My Val doesn't have a job yet here, and I generally don't work until 1 or 6 p.m., so I wake up without an alarm, and if I have to, I wake up to my cell phone and she barely stirs. I'll let you know when I get home at 2 a.m. and she's getting up at 6 a.m. what happens!
Tim - we have that. Problem is there isn't a sound barrier to prevent the beep from singing it's sweet wakeup song to the lady.
Jeff - a suggestion for when The Day comes. Nail anything throwable to the floor that's on her side of the bed, including the nightstand.
Post a Comment
<< Home