Five More Days

We got back home late on Sunday night after a dumpling dinner at Chinatown followed by ridiculously strong drinks at a gay bar. At the bar we debated whether or not "Blacula" was a figment of the jew's over-worked imagination - I said it sounded like a porn-star's name - and he amazed us all by using the word "blaxploitation" correctly. We then went on to call each other names like blitch and blimbo.

Once home, I procrastinated till sleepy-time, and then made the jew promise to wake me up at 8 am because it was important that I get to work by nine and by important I don't mean people are going to get mad important, I mean I'm going to get fired important. Having impressed this upon the jew, I proceeded to snuggle in deep - satisfied and completely sure that I would wake up at 8 am.

Come 8 am, both our alarms went off. I switched mine off out of habit - I can do it now without even actually waking up - and he started poking me, reminding me of my words from the night before, threatening to pull the duvet off at which I made horrified sounds. All in vain. He kept nagging, I kept sleeping and he kept up the "You made me promise to wake you up" until I started weeping. I am so fucking lazy that I will howl and rage at the prospect of waking up, but even when required to wake up, will try my best to keep my half of the duvet. Crying works most of the time, but there was no winning today.

Post hysterics, he let me snooze for exactly two minutes before pulling the duvet off, and kicking me out. I dressed up, put make up on, transferred stuff from weekend bag to work bag. And he slept.

I hate Mondays.