My husband is an inconsiderate mofo in the morning.
Today I need to be at work at 9. Thusly, I didn't want to get up til 7, shower, sort myself out, stroll down the road in time to run about like the proverbial blue arsed fly for ten hours then come home and keel over. The dog is off in kennels, so this was, in theory, possible.
5am. The radio starts to blare. Radio4, 'Farming Today'.
"Do we have
to have the radio on?"
"I'm dozing through it."
"I'm not! Turn it the fuck off!"
Slay grumbles and mutters, turns radio off. Thirty minutes of he fidgeting and me slowly falling asleep again follow.
5:45am or thereabouts.
Thud crash bang. "You want me to get you up?"
I'm at work at 9, motherfucker. Piss off for a bit. "7 will do."
I fall asleep again with a grateful sigh. Ah, no fidgeting, no radio, perfick.
Bang crash clatter swear curse bang thud crash.
He's filling the dishwasher.
*CLANG* bang crash tinkle *BANG*
is he doing down there?
CURSES bang crash.
Right, that's it.
Slosh SWEAR crash.
I'm downstairs for 6:30, unamused. How can somebody make so much fucking noise? I ask him this.
"I dropped a pan."
Oh, right, fine then.
I made mugs of tea and settled down to a hard morning's ignoring him. I didn't sleep well last night, partly because of worrying about arrys_girlie
but also because he was in Super Snore mode. When he does this I can hear the bedsprings resonating in painful sympathy - through two pillows. Research has shown that a really enthusiastic snorer can achieve sound levels akin to a road drill.
I can well believe it.
I'm going to take my wedding album in today. The nurses working today haven't seen the pics and they are damned impressive, even if I do say so myself; the marriage might be a pile of poo but the day was wonderful.
Oh well. Time for a shower then hit the road. Wish me luck, kidlets.
(And send good vibes to me mate, would you? Ta.)