Morning has broken (Morning IS broken)

On a work morning my husband sets his alarm clock for 7.00am.  When it goes off at 7.00am he gets up.  Did you hear what I just said.  I'll say it again. When his alarm goes off. He gets up.

HE GETS UP!

Not only does he get up, he collects a clean towel and heads for the bathroom, where he has a shower.  Just like that! Straight away, he just goes and gets in the shower.

STRAIGHT IN THE SHOWER!

Then he goes downstairs and takes the dog out for a walk. On this walk he actually talks to people who are also up. The actual exchanging of pleasantries, whilst out with the dog.  Imagine that.

He then comes in, and makes himself some toast, which he eats whilst watching the news. He actually sits down, on the sofa, with toast, ON A PLATE, and watches the headlines.

Then he goes to work and its still only 7.45am.  Only 45minutes since the alarm went off.

I find this kind of behaviour very suspicious. It makes me uneasy. Even after years and years I still find this creepy. He is like a weird morning stepford wife, springing forth from his bed ready to get on with the day. Heading out all showered and dressed and CHEERFUL to stand in a field making PLEASANT conversation with other dressed people.

I believe these people to be freaks of nature.

So lets go back to the soothing 'ERK ERK ERK ERK ERK' of the alarm. As we've already established  husband is already in the shower before the 6th 'ERK' is heard. I have two choices available to me I can either: Get up or go back to sleep.  I bet you can guess which I do.  The snooze button is my friend.  I am however an experienced snoozer.  The alarm clock is too primitive for me. I already have pre-prepared a complex series of alarms on my phone.

The series of alarms allow me to sleep for a further 13 minutes, then I will allow myself a further ten minutes of sleep however this sleep will be broken into 5 lots of 2 minutes, where I will allow myself the luxury of pressing snooze 5 times.  Incidentally, it is during this complicated series of micro sleeps that I have my most vivid and terrifying dreams.

So where are we.  Oh yes.  Its now 7.23am. I have stolen another 23 minutes in bed.  I now have a major decision to make. 

DO I NEED TO WASH MY HAIR?

Last night I looked at my hair and thought the following:

• Dear god I'm starting to look like Ian Beale

This morning, at 7.23am, without looking in the mirror I thought this:

• Washing your hair too regularly strips it of its natural oil
• It doesn't feel too bad (I assess this by how it feels on my head, not by actually touching it)
• It won't look too bad if I tie it up
• Thank you god for dry shampoo

(I did once have an unpleasant experience after running out of dry shampoo. I decided to sprinkle some talc on my hair and brush it through. However I clearly didn't effectively remove it from my scalp, and after getting a bit too warm at work, the talc mixed with my perspiration and I found that I had a thick white paste in my hair. I created quite a stir I can tell you!)

So having decided not to wash my hair I can get away with another 6 minutes of sleep/snooze/sleep/snooze/sleep/ snooze (3 lots of 2 minutes). When the 6 minutes are up I know I have to get up, shower and get ready. 

I go and wake the children (both completely normal, no leaping from bed, being all ALERT and weird) and start to head for the shower. 

Now this is where things get weird. I check the clock and it's 7.32am. I am sat on the edge of the bed, ready to leap crawl to the bathroom. I stand up and make my move.  I look at the clock again and its 7.56am and I'm still in the bedroom, still unshowered. I think very hard about where the last 24 minutes have gone and realise that I couldn't possibly have got in the shower as I had been doing very important things:

IMPORTANT THINGS I HAVE DONE DURING THE MISSING 24 MINUTES

• Looked at my feet and thought about what colour I might paint my toenails next
• Looked for a navy blue nail varnish that I remember buying in approximately 2005
• Wondered if my excessive tiredness is down to having ME. 
• Google the symptoms of ME and self diagnose myself
• Notice there is dust in the back of my hairdryer
• Pick the dust out of the back of my hairdryer
• Wonder how much dust I would have if I'd saved all of the dust out of my hairdryer
• Look out of the window paying particular attention to the sky
• Think I spot a rain cloud
• Google the days weather
• Notice a new freckle on my arm
• Take a photo of the new freckle
• Look at the picture of the freckle and wonder if there was any point in taking a photo of it
• Think about crisps
• Think about dips that go best with crisps
• Wonder how easy it is to make your own guacamole
• Google recipes for guacamole
• Make mental shopping list for lemons and avocados
• Look at the clock and crap myself when I realise I have just wasted 24 minutes.

Only at this point do I actually start to do what I should be doing.

My shower takes me only minutes, however I don't have time to wash my hair.  When I get out of the shower I have a quick glance in the mirror and am not really surprised to see Ian Beale peering back at me.

I manage to get myself dressed and apply some make up in approximately 29.6 seconds.  I look at the clock again and realise that in fact I took a touch longer to dress and apply my make up than I initially estimated.  It is now 8.24am

WHAT IS GOING ON, WHO IS STEALING TIME???

I realise with horror that:

• Neither of the boys are dressed
• No one has any lunch
• I am supposed to fill the car with petrol
• Instead of doing just lipstick, powder and lipgloss, I have applied make up that Lady GaGa would be proud of (how did I not know I was doing this)

I decide the best course of action is to just shout a lot, so I shout at the boys and tell them to go and get dressed.  They grumble but do as they're told.  They both however seem to be reluctant to finish watching the episode of the Simpsons they are watching.  Actually I don't blame them, its a really good one, I haven't seen it for ages. 

WHAT AM I DOING!!! I'M WATCHING THE SIMPSONS!

I rush around the kitchen frantically looking for things for lunch.  I decide there is no time for sandwiches so I throw buttered bread, ham and some lettuce in a bag and decide that today everyone will be having deconstructed sandwiches. I also give the boys an apple and a chocolate biscuit. I will tell the boys that we are having a build your own sandwich day.  The 8 year old will suck this up, the 16 year old will eat in on the way to school and then buy chips at lunchtime.  I'm ok with that.

I get us all arranged in the living room, bundle the boys into the car and give the chip pan thats on my head another spray with dry shampoo.

I check the clock again.  Its 8.54am.  Only 2 hours since the alarm went off.  We're like a well oiled machine. I congratulate myself for being so speedy this morning.

Off to work to relax.

Fifty shades of ridiculous

So we've all read the hype.

Apparently if you're female and between the ages of 16 and 95 you're not really a woman unless you've read 50 shades of grey.

Failure to read this book means that you are technically dead from the waist down. You are in fact 'frigid'. You are incapable of any kind of sexual pleasure. You lie prone in your bed at night, dreading the very touch of your inexperienced husband. You have given up on wearing pyjama's and have taken to sleeping wrapped in a rug, to ensure there is no inappropriate touching.

Failure to read this book means that effectively you and your other half are living as brother and sister. You'd rather have a scone and do a sudoku than have a snog and a fumble.

Having heard this I decided that I should definitely read 50 shades of grey. My sudoku habit (20 a day at the moment, but I'm on patches) does not make me frigid..

I decided to download it on my phone, rather than buy the book. My thinking being I could drip with pleasure in private, whilst looking like I was reading the daily mail online (in hindsight I'm actually more ashamed about being seen reading the daily mail in public than 50 shades of grey)

So before I read it, I read some reviews about it:

• Claire from Oxford:  Good grief, its delightfully dirty!
• Camilla from Chipping Norton: Blimey, one nearly fell off ones pony whilst reading it!
• Cilla from Liverpool: Surprise, surprise...The unexpected hit me between the eyes....then between the legs...
• Christine from Middlesbrough: Effing hell, I'm proper chuffed I never threw away me skipping rope and table tennis bat...pulling me knickers down as I type....Waynes right up for it

So I started reading.

It seems that the story is based around S&M (not to be mistaken with M&S) The first one is one person dominating, and giving pain to another. The second one is a person wanting to buy jumpers, candles and smoked salmon while the other one sulks.

It started off a bit on the bland side then got a bit ruder. He'd started tying her up and inflicting a bit of apparently pleasurable pain.

At this point I contemplated bringing a length of wood and a tennis racket out of the garage and hiding them in the wardrobe.  What could possibly be more erotic that waking up my husband at 4am with a hefty smack around his head with a table leg.  Just as he's coming round I would tie him up with my dressing gown cord, straddle him (erotically) while repeatedly belting him over the the head with a tennis racket.  I'm sure he'd be writhing in pleasure (convulsing with serious head injuries) by this point.

Some of the 'sexy' traits of the female lead character is biting her lip and rolling her eyes. The male lead character finds it desperately and distractingly erotic and deals with it by punishing her for being dreadfully naughty. 

Feeling sure my husband would react in the same manner I decided to start biting my lip and rolling my eyes too.

Husband: Did you empty the hoover
Me: No, I forgot
Husband: For gods sake
Me: Sorry *bites my lip and rolls my eyes*
Husband:  Are you OK *shouting* ARE YOU OK, ARE YOU HAVING A STROKE

Once the ambulance had gone, I admitted I was attempting to be erotic.

Only then did he punch me in the face.

Finally we're getting somewhere.