On Speaking to Myself

“It’s quarter to eleven, you should get up now.”
“God. Really? Quarter to eleven? It doesn’t feel like it. That’s terrible, I’ll get up now.”
I roll onto my side and discover how comfortable it really is on my left side. I wish I’d been lying on my left side for the last half hour. I pause, on my left side, just for a minute.
“Well?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting there, hang on.”
“What would your brother-in-law say right now? You still being in bed at quarter to eleven?”
Me thinking about my brother-in-law while I’m naked in bed disturbs me and I pull the covers up to my nose. My bloodshot eyes are like two red beacons, willing my husband to bring me coffee.
“He would say – You can’t do THIS when you have children you know, you can’t sleep-IN on a Sunday morning.” And he would roll his chirpy blue eyes to the chirpy blue sky and lift all four chirpy children with one perfectly muscled arm as they chirpily squealed for chirpy joy. Where the hell is my husband? He never brings me coffee in bed so why the hell can’t he work out that THIS is the morning I need one?
Couples with children shouldn’t be allowed to talk to couples without children. It should be a law. My brother-in-law probably really thinks that I have no idea about not having another sleep-in for the next 20 years. All the more reason to stay here just a little bit longer.
“Are you getting up now?”
“What – am I the only part of our consciousness that’s capable of eliciting movement? You get up.”
“We won’t be able to do this when we have kids you know.”
I roll my bloodshot eyes around and around my head until I feel dizzy.
“I can’t get up, I’m dizzy.”
“We need to get the washing on while the sun’s still warm.”
“That’s the most imbecilic thing you’ve ever said, you’re clearly sleep-deprived, now shut up.”
“The bathroom needs cleaning.”
I’m right there, it really does. I can hear its tortured screams from beyond the wall next to me. I pull the covers up over my ears.
“Pfft,” I pfft.* But I’ve run out of excuses. The bathroom is wailing in staphylococcus studded screams, the washing is mounting a mutiny on the laundry floor, the kitchen sink is a cacophony of caterwauling, and I need to pee.
“How would you like an amazing energy drink that is guaranteed to taste good and get you out of bed?” My husband looms over me and smiles at my red eyeballs poking above the top of the sheet. A broad hand clamped around a hot coffee comes into view. I look at him. My gratitude swamps the bed like a menopausal hot flush.
“Let’s not have kids, what’d’ya reckon honey?”
Did I say that out loud?

*(This post was inspired by a short story called ‘Dingbats’ I read in bed this morning, written by Darren King. The line ‘”Pfft”, I pfft’ is taken directly from his story. I laughed out loud when I read it. Oh, and my husband really did say that to me this morning to try and entice me out of bed. He’d already tackled the caterwauling sink and was about to wash the car. He’ll be fine when we have kids, I on the other hand, may need a self-pumping intravenous caffeine drip.)
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19 Comments

Filed under Family, Fiction, Humour, Love, Writing

19 responses to “On Speaking to Myself

  1. c

    Oh yeah, he is definately a keeper!

    i loved the wailing bathroom, laundry mutinizing (i made that word up!) and a caterwauling sink… It’s totally like that! (to me it is).

    i’ve slept until a quater to eleven and beyond, but i always feel icky afterward. Still, i am not a morning person. Anyway, kids and lack of good long sleeps only lasts for about thirteen or fourteen years- depending on what kind of child you’ve raised. 😉

    i found this post very well written. You used personification of domestic crisis to perfection. i liked it a lot.

    Like

  2. You may be worried about you but the rest of us aren’t. This story clearly demonstrates that you have all the qualities required, selfdeprecating humour, cynical intelligence and an ability to see the whole picture. Have children, the world needs more of you.

    Like

  3. C, oh well, 13-14 years ‘aint so bad, right??! And laundry ‘mutinizing’? I like it! 🙂

    Paul, that really is a pretty great compliment, thanks!

    Like

  4. romi41

    “My gratitude swamps the bed like a menopausal hot flush”….hahaha…the descriptive element to your writing is fantastic 🙂

    PS: aww..sounds like you’ve got a great catch there 😉 , I have a feeling you won’t have to entirely give up sleeping-in once the “wee ones” enter the scenario 😉

    Like

  5. Melana

    Your writing in this story is ‘just so human’; I love it.
    Your bring a richness to the mundane with humor and wit. I’m still laughing 🙂 Excellent piece!

    Like

  6. Funny … well at least you know what is coming if you do decide to give up everything as you know it to be to have the joy of children suck the marrow from your bones, ha.

    Like

  7. Grace

    lolololol OMG…. I actually use that term myself in writing “Pffffffft”…It’s so…DESCRIPTIVE 😀

    I dunno, Goddess. Can’t you teach the wee ones to bring you coffee in bed?

    Like

  8. Sounds to me like tequila is to blame.
    You didn’t eat the worm, did you?
    Yoiks!
    Great post. Fun to read.
    ~m

    Like

  9. LOL – I think I’ve had some of those conversations myself – minus the perfectly muscled husband offering coffee. Yeah, you have the kids, then let him handle the aftermath – I t hink that’s fair.
    Annie

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  10. It brings to mind the Wanda Sykes routine about how couples with kids have to look away when they say that the kids are worth it.

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  11. Romi, we both know I could never give up my sleep-ins altogether 😉

    Melana, glad I made you laugh my sweet.

    God Tobeme, do you have to put it like that?!

    Grace, pfft is a favourite I must say!

    Michael, of course I ate the worm… aren’t you supposed to?

    WC, I think that sounds awfully fair, good thinking O wise one!

    Evyl, haven’t seen it, I’ll have to look it up 🙂

    Like

  12. There’s a great touch of humour in this.
    By the way, as the father of seven, let me tell you one essential aid you always need near your bed is …
    … earphones.
    THEN you can have a lie in any time.

    Like

  13. poseidonsmuse

    Oh Simonne! I loved this! I am not a fully functioning human-being until I grind the beans and brew my first cup! I often think about that very thing — if I ever had children, it would be a HUGE struggle and adjustment to crack myself out of bed on the weekends (normally I don’t sleep past 9 am), but “Child-Time” is not GMT or UTC (!!!), so I’m hooped [I guess that means that I will just be drinking alot more coffee if I do decide to have children]. Loved the humour in this bit. Good job.

    Like

  14. Seven, Tony! SEVEN?!!!! Wow!! Ok, I’ll remember the earphone thing – thanks!

    Like

  15. MUSE!!! How did you slip in there unnoticed? It’s so nice to see you 🙂
    I’m so with you sister, on the whole coffee thing… in fact I think I might brew one up now… 🙂

    Like

  16. sandybarker

    I so enjoy how you can take an ‘everyday moment’ and squeeze a smile out of it. Pillow talk is a favourite, even if it is about chores.

    Like

  17. Doktor Holocaust

    my internal sleeping-in conversation on sunday is much shorter, as I’m a single weirdo who is wholly unexpected to procreate (which is good, as I am wholly unwilling to).

    “It’s 11:30, yanno.”
    “Yeah, so?”
    “You maybe wanna get up?”
    “Not hungry, don’t have to use the toilet, and I can fart just fine right here, so, overall, no.”
    “Damn you’re persuasive. G’nite.”

    Like

  18. PG

    I love this! We’re so similiar. In soooo many ways. the kids thing, the coffee thing, the bed thing, the sleep thing, and that pesky cleaning thing. (Sorted that out – got a cleaner. Best investment we ever made.) Ahhh, I love your writing!

    Like

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