Friday, January 21, 2011
BEAM ME UP SCOTTY! NO, SERIOUSLY, GET ME THE HELL OUTTA HERE...
It's 5:45 in the morning and I am already having to recover from the dogs.
Every morning, Ben's alarm clock sets off a chain of events; some of them are mundane but most of them involve pure chaos. This morning is proving to be a 'pure chaos' kinda day. Ben rolls over to hit the snooze for the first time and the movement stirs Hank out of his beauty sleep on his big boy bed. He jumps out of his bed, stretches, and hops onto my bed. Scarlet, never to be outdone by the specimen three times her size, lunges like spiderman onto my side of the bed, and the wookie chorus begins! They growl and moan and snarl at each other while inching closer and closer to the prize... OUR PILLOWS! Hank makes a graceful leap onto my head and traps me. WINNER WINNER, CHICKEN DINNER, he is thinking! (Keep in mind the time lapse here is an impressive 30 seconds, so I am still in my sleep position; laying on left side, left arm safely under the pillow) He has a huge strip of my hair pinned under his chihuahua size paw; his body is like concrete on my pillow; coincidentally, the same one that is keeping my arm warm. Needless to say, at a quarter to 6 in the morning my limbs (the ones that AREN'T being held hostage) are pretty unresponsive to what my brain is commanding them to do. In this case, it's to remove the beast from my head, before he gives me a nice bald spot. The conversation between my mind and body goes something like this:
Brain: "Uggghhh, your hair is being pulled out! Take your right arm and pull the dog off"
Body: "OK, I'm doing it, but he's not budging! HE'S NOT BUDGING!!"
Brain: "You are kicking your right leg, dumbass, I said use your right arm!"
Body: "No need to be so hostile! I'm trying but it's early"
Brain: "OK, if it's only your leg that works, then use it to kick your knight in shining armor in the nards and wake him back up to save you"( again, it's been 30 seconds, so he is back in a deep sleep). Now, Ben and I have been together so long that my internal conversation wakes him up (or it was my cries of help. I choose to believe it's the same brainwave thing; much more romantic). He makes one swift movement with his arm and fills the room with that booming voice and it's a miracle!!! Hank has jumped off my head! Hallelujah! Then I realize the happiness is short-lived, for he has landed perfectly on my boob. Somehow, he has managed to pin my baby feeder between his ginormous paw and the mattress, providing me with a complimentary mammogram. (for the sake of time, and my PTSD, just re-read the above Brain/Body conversation, but substitute 'boob' for 'hair')
Needless to say, by 6 a.m. I am ready to drink myself into oblivion; because of the pain of multiple Hankisodes I encountered already AND because I know this, or something eerily similar, will happen again tomorrow.