“Do you know why they call it ‘PMS’? Because ‘Mad Cow Disease’ was already taken”*

So… I have to drive my Hubs to town this morning. He has his full-strength-caffiene-coffee-to-go. He is Awake. Morning is his time. He’s fresh and awake and chatty. Have I mentioned I am not a morning person?

I. Am. Not. a morning person. I do not drink coffee. I used to drink Pepsi in the morning, but since I’ve been banned from it, I no longer have caffiene to stimulate my senses and get me ready for the day. I wake, usually to the low growling and quiet woofing of my pups politely letting me know they want to go use the outside facilities. They have internal alarm clocks that unfailingly read 5:15 a.m. I stumble out in the dark morning in my pj’s and wait patiently on the porch, hoping this will not be the morning they get a wild hair to go running down the drive or play … ignoring all my pleas and barking to return to the house. That is the extent of our conversation – “Good Dog” and “C’Mon…let’s go!”…occasionally, “Damnit, we aren’t going to play this game this morning!”

Back inside, I shower, dress, dry and fix my hair, and put my face on. Do the dishes (if I’ve been lax the night before), fold some laundry, make the bed, pick up the house a bit, possibly pay a bill, then I tell the pups “good bye” and “be good”, pet the cats, kiss the Hubs, and dash out the door. After six years, the guys at work have learned not to talk to me… for at least an hour. They ignore me, beyond “good morning”, and wait patiently for some alertness to dawn in my eyes. Woe is the man person who gets into a heated discussion with me first thing in the morning.

Which brings me to this morning. “Chatty Cathy” (aka Hubs) was talking to me all the way to town. Some conversation was repeated, which is fine… I’m known to repeat myself from time to time. A nodding of the head, a brief “uh huh” or “nuh uh” is required. I can handle that. But then came the moment. The one in which I am trying to talk and drive at the same time and he is giving me the hand signals. You know… the “I’m the passenger, but I really want to be the driver” signals. Yes, dear… I see the truck. Yes, dear… I know he wants to turn. I should go? I was trying to let him go first, I was trying to be the polite driver. Oh? I’m to stay in this lane? I am. I never left this lane. I wasn’t going to turn into that lane. I CAN talk and drive at the same time… even first thing in the morning. (And he accuses ME of having A.D.D.!)

Needless to say, we did not end the drive on a good note. He made the critical mistake. He talked to me in the morning. We’ve been together for 27 years. He’s supposed to know this by now. What? My fault? Me? … oh… yeah, I suppose. Sorry, sweetie. I’m awake now.

*unknown author