Day 22: Your Morning Routine

Weekdays obviously vary from weekends.

Weekdays I get up between 5:30-6. Pour a cup of coffee & settle down to read emails, texts from night before, notifications on Facebook. Glance at clock & wonder how it got to be 6:15. Kiss Shug goodbye. Think about getting dressed but decide a game of candy crush never hurt anybody.

The next time I look up it’s twenty till seven. Hmm. Better not scroll Instagram.

Pick out jewelry first, because that’s the best part, and determines what kind of attitude I will have that day (Sassy, always, but there are variations). Underthings, socks (also dependent on outfit), pants, top, shoes set by the door to go on very last thing because I hate shoes.

Do I have time for breakfast? Yes. Soggy cocopuffs or AppleJacks usually. And a banana. If I take my lunch, this is when I’m grabbing the leftovers in the pyrex dish or the hot pockets & grapes. If I’m smart, I will take my shirt back off to brush teeth. If not, brush teeth & cuss for getting toothpaste down front of shirt. Dab at it & decide whether to roll with it (usually), add scarf, or change. Still need to make the bed. I fleetingly wonder why I bother, then remember that in the event of a home invasion & I’m shot & killed (not likely, as I am armed & most definitely dangerous), press & police will be examining every aspect of my life & they will see that I’m tidy, if not speckless, & a creature of habit. I make the bed, complete with accent throw pillows.

It is now two minutes till seven & I still need to do something with my hair & put on makeup.

Or a hat & hope for the best. (That was twice last week). Or maybe a funky sparkly headband to distract from my unwieldy curls.

Ugh. Definitely need to do foundation & not just eye makeup. Oh well, I’ll just drive faster.

And of course I haven’t started Patsy to get the frost melted off the windshield, so that pushes me into the red danger zone of being late for work.

And then some mornings there is Chick-fil-a & I arrive with plenty of time to spare. So it’s breakfast that makes me late. Or procrastination, whichever.

Weekends we’re typically up by seven, & we watch some movie while we play on our phones. Sometimes I read instead. And then it goes like this by eight o’clock:

Me to Shug: “You gettin’ hungry?”

“Yeah…I could eat a little something.”

“Whatchu want?”

“It don’t matter, baby.”

“Well….do you want homemade biscuits & sausage gravy? Or eggs, bacon, & rice…or omelets & fried taters? Or cereal and a banana?” I don’t offer pancakes unless I’m feeling very generous. I don’t like pancakes early in the morning. They turn my stomach with their sugary flavor.

“What do you feel like?” He always answers.

And I try to determine what he wants, unless I do have a preference.

And then I get to fixing it, we eat, I wash dishes. If I haven’t yet made the bed, I do so then. And then it’s time for a nap. Or to post a rambling status on Facebook.