I hate mornings. Really, truly hate them. I just hate to wake up. The hubs used to call me “the mole” in the morning because of my aversion to light, the way I burrow down in the blankets, and because of my squinty morning-eyes.
I do not think that being called a common garden pest is very flattering, so I asked him not to call me that. Of course, he forgot that I did not like it the very next morning. He popped out of bed cheery, as usual. He pulled the covers off of me and said, “How’s my mmmooollll…”
I glared at him, I do not want to be called a mole. He finished, “mmmooollll – ificent wifelet this morning? You’re just so mol-ificent and lovely!”
I feel that I can only take this as a compliment.
I was woken up in the wee hours of the morning this past week. I was sleeping away, when all of the sudden I jolted awake because something was punching my back. I turned over and saw the asleep hubs. He was half sitting, half laying facing me, with his arms bent so that his elbows were out in front of him. He was using his elbows to poke me in the back.
Me: Umm, what on earth are you doing?
The hubs poke-poke-poked my back some more with his elbows.
Me: Hey! Stop that!
The still asleep hubs kept using his sharp elbows to poke me. I swatted his elbows away.
Me: HEY! You need to stop that right now! Lay down and go back to bed.
The hubs let out a huge exasperated sigh, rolled to his other side, and went back to sleeping quietly.
I have no idea what the hubs was dreaming about, and I don’t know that I want to know! But I am glad that when he wakes me up he normally does it much more kindly than with his surprisingly sharp elbows!