Some people say I’m not a morning person.
I think that’s mean.
For example, my father says I’m not a morning person.
When I was a well-behaved, polite, considerate and thoughtful teenager living under my parents’ roof, my dad used to wake me in the morning. He might say he drew the short stick, but I say that’s a gross misrepresentation of my joyful morning personality.
Also, my father used beat me. Sure, it wasn’t with a belt or his fist or anything, but, really, being mentally tortured in the morning with a bouncy, happy, stuffed bear that romped over my covers is its own kind of grisly horror show. Add to that the fact that my hardened Marine father used a wittle, cutesy, baby bear voice to say, “Wise and shine, Bethy Wethy. It’s wake up time!” And you can see where morning may be something of a difficult subject for me.
I think the first time my father heard me swear was in the morning at a bear. But that’s neither here nor there.
My daughter says I’m not a morning person. She believes that I’m incapable of speech before 7:30am. Which is definitely not true. I speak in full sentences in the morning. Like “Wha?” And “Uh.” And “Hmm ah.” It’s like learning a second language at home, which I believe is an invaluable and lifelong tool. You’re welcome, kids.
And also, Greg says I’m not a morning person.
I believe Greg’s exact quote was: “Whoever said ‘it doesn’t hurt to ask’ obviously hasn’t tried to talk to you in the morning.” Which is a totally bizarre thing to say, since I’m pretty sure all I did was ask him politely to stop talking to me, go far, far away, and leave me alone to more thoroughly enjoy my drool puddle. On pain of death.
Do you ever have those moments when everyone believes one thing and you believe another and you start to question your convictions? Here’s some advice for moments like that: Shut. It. Down.
The Fairy Princess of The Morning
P.S. This is the only child o’ mine who understands.
Thank you, baby.