Tuesday, 25 July 2017

Sleeping in...

The husband is in the doghouse yet again.

Let me explain.  Several years ago there was some discussion as to whose side of the bed the radio alarm should go on.  Historically it had always sat on my side as I was able to change the time on the alarm without searching half an hour for a pair of glasses,or resorting to looking like Jackie Chan as squinting was required if the glasses remained unfound.  

He suggested that it might be an idea to have it on his bedside table because I had a lamp, a kindle, my phone and various inhalers scattered across it.  (I am asthmatic, so they can never be more than an arm stretch away).  The husband's bedside table was bare, except for a tin which claimed to be 'Dad's Saving Up Fund for Tools'.  To date this remains empty except for several euros, three washers and a large bolt which I was too nervous to throw away in case it was important.  Anyway, he felt that he was quite capable of having the radio alarm on his side, so one Saturday the poor DAB did the long walk across the bed.

At the time, I did state quite forcefully that he couldn't be trusted with it, but he wasn't having any of it, and he moved the radio this way and that till he was satisfied that it was in the right place.

There have been a couple of occasions where we have overslept since he took over time-keeping duties, mainly because he has a penchant for stretching over just as the radio comes on, and turning it off.  He says that he thinks he's pressing the snooze button, but I'm sure that this is just an excuse.  Without his glasses on, he wouldn't be able to tell whether he was looking at the front or the back of the radio, so my response to his excuse is 'Snooze, shmooze, you were just after a lay in'.

So yesterday morning we overslept.  I had told the husband that I needed to leave the house early to make up for the hours lost to Milton Keynes Hospital and daughter number two, and he agreed that he also needed to get a wriggle on.  Now normally, our alarm goes off at 5.30.  This gives us both time to blog, walk dogs, put make up on, have breakfast, make lunch etc etc.  Stirring this morning, at what I thought was round about getting up time, I asked the husband whether he'd switched the alarm off again. 'Of course not', he said in rather a curmudgeonly manner.

So I went back to sleep.

Reg started scratching at the door some time later, so I got up and headed downstairs. Sitting down with a cup of tea, I happened to glance at the clock.  It was bloody 7.00.

It transpired that the husband took advantage of my enforced absence and changed the alarm time on the radio from 5.30 to 7.00.

And so it came to pass, yet again, that I was right.

I told you he's not to be trusted...
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