10 Reasons Why

20 Very Important Things to Do on a Vacation Friday: Part 1 – The Morning

1. Absolutely nothing.

2. Test out the stamina of your alarm clock. You’ve always wondered how many times you can hit the snooze button until it just stops working and you wake up the next day. (It explains all this in the manual, of course, but you haven’t seen the manual since you first opened the box. This is how life works.) Change the alarm setting to “radio”, then keep hitting the little bar every time an annoying pop starlet starts bellowing some pointless ditty about rainbows, baby daddies or the enticing freedom of not wearing undergarments in public.

3. Train the cat to bring you the TV remote, even if the remote is sitting right there on the nightstand. Two feet is a lot of distance to cover when you’re not in the mood.

4. If the training goes well, reward the cat by listlessly moving your foot around under the covers, so kitty will be convinced that something is under there that must be killed.

5. Think about actually getting out of bed at some point. If the thought of such an activity brings a tear to your eye, you’re not ready. Baby steps, people.

6. Pick up the TV remote, brush off the cat hair, stare at the number buttons as you try to think of what channel might have something interesting on at the moment, then set the remote aside. Some people just aren’t very good at math in the morning, and you really don’t want to push yourself.

7. Whilst shifting about to get more comfortable, because lying around on your ass is a very intricate process, you discover something cold, flat and hard under the demarcation pillow that is used to clearly distinguish your side of the bed from your partner’s side. You pull said object out into the light. It’s your phone. Why was it there? Did I really not trust that I could sleep without it? This is entirely too much to think about, so toss the phone on the bed beside you so Kitty can pounce on it like Jesus just dropped a brick of catnip.

8. Sigh and turn on the TV anyway. Flip through the hundreds of channels, not stopping on anything because, even though several programs sound interesting, you don’t know if you can go on living if you missed something more important on one of the higher channels. When you hit the music-only channels, sigh again and throw the remote next to your phone on the bed while Juice Newton wails about us calling her an angel and Kitty has another small catgasm over a new play toy.

9. Ponder for a while about how much fun it would be if you were a cat. You sleep, you play, you eat. Every day is full of the wonder of sleeping and playing and eating. Then again, you have to go boo in a gritty box of pellets that manage to stick to your claws until you can successfully fling them down a random hallway for Daddy to stomp on in the middle of the night. Hmmm.

10. Stare at the ceiling and realize that it really needs to be painted. (What the hell happened in the corner over there, with the odd brown spots? Did somebody have a mustard fight? Why do I not know about this?) Then remember that the last time you and your partner decided to paint anything, there was a colossal disagreement on everything from the color to the texture to the way one should properly hold their brush whilst perched atop a rickety ladder and wearing poor-choice painting couture involving cut-offs and flip-flops. The fallout from that extravaganza meant nobody had any sex for at least a month. Nope, we won’t be painting today.

11. Congratulate yourself on having marked ten activities off your list, even though you didn’t even know you had a list when you first woke up. As celebration for your hard work, take a small nap. Or three.

12. You awaken to an odd, insistent sound. You glance at the alarm clock. Nope, it’s not that. You look at the cat, who is forcefully licking at a private part with a determination equal to a Tea Party member refusing to read a book. No, probably not that either. Then the sound comes again, and you realize that somebody is ringing your doorbell. Aw, hell no. It should be against the law to ring someone’s doorbell at eight o’clock in the morning. Then you glance at the alarm clock again. It’s after ten. Oh. Well, maybe they’ll just go away.

13. The doorbell rings again. The cat pauses in mid-hygiene routine, with one leg perfectly hoisted straight in the air, which is both an envious and an annoying ability. (“Dude, you gonna do something about that door? I’m kinda busy.”)

14. You sigh again, which is what you’re always doing at work, so you might as well be there. You throw back the covers, a move that sends Kitty tumbling and is sure to become a plot point when Kitty files papers about child abuse, and you stagger to your feet. You approach the front bedroom window that reveals the least amount of your body, because you haven’t worked out since 1982, and, well, you’re sort of naked, and cautiously peer out a half-inch gap in the window treatment. (We’ll ignore the fact that there’s a quarter-inch layer of dust on said treatment. We all have different priorities.)

15. Your stunned eyes discover that there are several cars parked in the street, still running, as chaperoning moms wait while a horde of pre-teen girls are stomping all over the neighborhood, lugging boxes of cookies. What the hell? Is it cookie time again? Didn’t we just do that? Why are they so insistent? If this country could just harness our financial engine to the backs of little girls who really, really, really want to go to camp next summer, we would never have a financial deficit again.

16. The doorbell rings once more. Okay,seriously? Why is that little Honey Boo Boo not giving up? Why isn’t one of the perfectly-coiffed, committee-attending moms not marching up to Honey and explaining to her that if you ring a doorbell 47 times, the inhabitants of the house are either not home or they are dead. Neither situation will help you reach your goal. Let go and let God.

17. Amazingly, one of the Stepford Wives honks. Oh, happy joy. There’s the sound of something happening on my front porch, and then Little Trixie suddenly appears in my line of vision, racing up to the honking SUV that cost more than my house. It seems that Trixie is a bellower, and I can catch every word of her status report: “Mommy, there’s somebody home. I can hear them.” (My eyes widen. Hear me? What can you hear? My nudity? The incessant licking of a cat that really, really wants to be clean?)

18. June Cleaver smiles at her willful child. “Honey, maybe they just left the TV on for their kitty or doggy, like we do when Mommy has to go to an appointment with her divorce lawyer. It helps keep the kitties and puppies calm and happy so they don’t slice people open with their claws in the middle of the night.” Little Trixie nodded sagely, as if recalling a recent event wherein an animal thought domesticated had gone all ghetto and shifty. “Yeah, TVs should be on for kitties.”

19. My own cat, Scotch, stops in mid-lick, leg still hoisted, glaring at me. “What is this about entertainment when my daddies are not here? Why am I not aware of this? I must know more.” He leaps to his paws and does that odd shake cats have when they are trying to rid themselves of things that no one else can see. I felt a tingle of panic. “Scotch, my pretty kitty” I croon soothingly, “don’t listen to the little urchin with the big mouth. She’s in a different tax bracket than we are, and they lead different lives.” Scotch studies me momentarily, his cryptic and possibly sociopathic mind contemplating his next move.

20. Then he races up beside me, hurls himself to the window sill in that stunning way cats have of leaping forty times their own height, snags a drape with one of his weapon-like claws, and whisks the material aside, exposing my eavesdropping anatomy to the world. Before I can even engage my mind to react, June and Trixie both turn toward the window and suddenly have a whole lot to talk about in their next therapy session.

Oh God.

 

Click here to read the next bit in this series…

Originally published in “The Sound and the Fury” on 10/12/12. Minor alterations were made for this post, including the removal of an odd reference to Lady Kesha Spears that no longer made even vague sense. For those of you who are clenching, mortified about my possible immorality, please relax and calmly await the next post. Oh, and the photo is a closeup of an interesting tree in Malaga. Just because…

 

26 replies »

  1. Still laughing. “What can you hear? My nudity?”

    I like #1

    I’m allergic to cats though, so while all of your references were clearly charming and adorable, I, in those situations would be having an asthma attack, lol.
    You’re funny.
    Do I tell you that every week?

    Liked by 1 person

    • Interestingly enough, I’m mildly allergic to cats as well. Over the years, I’ve managed to learn just how far I can go with the snuggling and playing before the little allergens need to run do something else for a while… 😉

      Like

  2. There’s an app out there where you can answer a bunch of questions to determine if your cat is trying to kill you. There is a 96% chance that Dr. Whoberry is, indeed, trying to kill me. I think you may need this app so you can take proper precautions like buying more Whisker Lickins. Also, you should probably put some pants on and buy some girl scout cookies… I’ll take a box of Samoa’s. THANKS!

    Liked by 2 people

    • Well, back when I was employed, I would take vacation days on Fridays whenever possible, as this helped me control my urge to throttle some of me co-workers. Now that I’m retired, Vacation Friday is basically every day. But the routine stays the same no matter what day it is… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  3. does themanual state how far you have to throw the alarm clock to break it? i used to have “friends” who would let the phone ring 50 times in the morning so i would get up walk to the other side of the house pick up the phone and immediately hang it up.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. BWAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAA!!! I now know what to do the next time some uninvited ‘guest’ plants themselves on my doorstep and has a fixation with how many times they can push the little bell. Perhaps they have a thing for little yappy dogs (which Huny is NOT, except when that damn doorbell rings. You’d think you’d been transported to yapper hell in that case. She also will snarl and do her best pitbull/rottweiler/german shepherd/ alsatian imitation. No glass in the front door, so they can’t see her after all. It mystifies me why she carries that delusion around in her wee head.) On second thoughts, this is a very small town and lots of old people who like to gossip (and frankly don’t have much else to really do besides reading the obits and remarking on how young someone was who has died). I answered the door in my lounging robe (a silky garment with faux leopard and tiger print, over run with someone’s badly designed images of lilies) and thought the old dude out there was going to faint. Or have a heart attack. My liability insurer would NOT be amused at that. But I wasn’t nekkid. The last time I dared to flit commando into my computer room, having forgotten the blinds were wide open, wouldn’t you know that the Coalition for Raising Better Demon Children was having an unheard of before trek around the area. I’m sure some of those tots and those women with permanent sticks up their nethers got whip lash and will have something to tell their therapists about too. Let us hope your set and mine never get together to compare notes on the folks who are nekkid and apparently not modest at all experiences..

    Liked by 2 people

    • LOL! Through no fault of my own (swear!) I am constantly being found naked in compromising situations. I suppose I could try harder to put decent clothes on more often, but I really don’t think it would make a difference. I am just fated to be swinging in the wind… 😉

      Like

  5. You lead an interesting life, Brian. Even staying in bed and ignoring a door bell has its challenges.
    Guess what? I live in a home that is tailor made for introverts. The front door opens to a side yard. At the far end of the yard is a gate with a doorbell. From your vantage point at a bay window (with curtains, natch), you can see the intruder (er, visitor) quite well, but they can’t see you. Even if you’re naked. 👀

    Liked by 2 people

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