I am not a morning person.
I can be a morning person when it involves waking up on my own schedule around 8ish, but waking up at 6AM in the dark and the cold to the sound of phone alarms does not lead to a coherent or cheerful Laura.
Usually the first half-hour of our morning is spent with Kevin getting ready and me slumping over the couch, checking email and responding in sixth-grade syntax to whatever came in the night before. I may try to catch up on blogs or see who’s checked in on Average Fantastic lately. Kevin will eat breakfast and try to tell me about exciting sports events or world news, to which I will respond in grunts. Interested grunts, but grunts nonetheless.
Eventually he will get geared up to leave and I will struggle out of my seat to hug him good-bye like a proper fiancee. Usually this is accompanied by him teasing me about falling back asleep, or drinking coffee, or something. I usually deserve it – many people get up earlier than we do for working and commuting, and I have a full two hours to wake up and make my morning useful.
The “useful” part is a struggle for me, but that’s another story.
Today I hugged him good-bye and settled in on his shoulder, pretending to nap. He shook me gently. “Don’t go to sleep there!”
“Wake up!” he said cheerfully. “I didn’t used to be a morning person, but look at me!”
“You can do it! Pretend you’re Dexter and you have to act like someone that you’re not. Like you’re hiding a dark secret.”
I pointed at the TV. “I’m still working up the energy to do Wii Fit in the mornings. One thing at a time.”
“Ooookay.” He kissed my forehead. “Have a good morning! That’s a order, soldier.”
“In that case I’ll be in bed until 9.”
He laughed and opened the door and discovered what I had known was happening all along – pouring rain.
He closed the door and stared at me.
“Still a morning person?”
“Nah. I wanna go back to bed.”