I know you are all just dying with anticipation for me to finish my Baby F(Ph)at book, so here’s a little snippet. Please feel free to lie and tell me you love it.
So there I am standing in the kitchen trying to decide what to eat for breakfast when the doorbell rings. As I was hanging out with my girls (that would be boobs) flapping in the wind and my hair doing its morning “troll doll” dance, I naturally dashed for the bathroom and sat on the toilet while my mother went to answer the door.
It was a friend from down the street. And while I normally would have been thrilled to see her, I just sat there counting the minutes till I heard the door close. I was hungry. The bathroom was getting stuffy. I needed food. My stomach was protesting something fierce.
Five minutes went by. Then ten. I still heard conversation and was starting to get really pissed. Then Pati, my sister knocks on the door and hands me a bra. That would be my cue to join the party.
So why was I so bitchy? I’m thinking the not falling asleep till after 6:30 a.m. thing may have something to do with it. I almost stayed awake, figuring the sun rising was as good a reason as any to admit defeat and get started on my day. But I tried one more time, and woke up at 9:45 to The Husband’s smiling face and Buttercup happily jumping on the bed.
“Fuck.” Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I said it in my head since I’m not looking to replay “The Great Oh Fuck” incident of 2008. Out loud I only groaned.
“I just got home from work,” The Husband is actually smiling. He’s home an hour earlier than usual.
“I just got three hours of sleep.” The light creeping though the curtains is hurting my eyes. Maybe a vampire bit me last night and I’ll never have to worry about growing old or needing a boob-lift. Wait, no. Forget that dream. I have to lose at least 25 pounds before becoming immortal or chance spending the rest of eternity bitching about my thighs.
The Husband raises a brow. “What the hell possessed you to stay up so late?”
I yawn. Stretch. Curse the sun. Buttercup giggles as she mimics my movements. “I didn’t do it on purpose, silly. ” And by “Silly” I meant “asshole.” “By the time I got home from dropping the spare set off to you it was 2:30. And that was when the coffee I drank on the way to your work decided to kick in. So I wrote for an hour. Then it was 3:30 and I tried to go to bed. And I tossed and turned for 2 hours so I read a book. Then it was 6:30 and I was about to get out of bed and say, “forget it,” really meaning fuck it, “when I suddenly woke up just now with you two in here.”
He smiles. It’s kinda pathetic. “Sorry.”
I’ll be expecting flowers soon. Or something shiny. Yes, preferably something shiny because The Husband owes me something good. My dear heart works midnights right now and last night called me after he got to work, which is an hour away, and calmly notified me that he had gone and locked his keys in the Jeep. Which only left me to question whether or not I was going to drive some 60 miles at 12:30 a.m. or 8:30 a.m. to drop off the spare set.
Wife of the Year? *Clasping hands to my chest* Oh, never expected to be nominated!
Buttercup is drawing in my brand new journal. I’m too tired to care. The Husband’s already in the shower and getting ready to crash, which means Mama’s gotta go take a dive into a steaming cup of caffeine so I can get started with my day.