This morning, I lay in the comfort of my Kingsdown king-sized bed, eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the morning. And then, suddenly, I was violently ripped out of my dreamlike state by Mr. Handsome shining a very bright flashlight on my face and shouting, "HEY YOU!"
For a moment, I thought I had somehow landed in jail and was being woken for my court date.
What. The. Hell?
I guess it was Mr. Handsome's loving way of letting me know I needed to get up and help with the crisis at hand. I don't know about you, but a nicer and gentler, "Hey sweetheart, I need you to get up," would have worked a helluva lot better in my mood department. Are all men like this, or did I just luck out?
Anyway, apparently Dee had lost his glasses AGAIN, and was all in a kerfuffle trying to find them, and Mr. Handsome had been helping him, but Mr. Handsome is not known for his patience, and he also had to get his butt out the door and to work, so that's a roundabout way of explaining why I was so rudely aroused this morning.
Dee said he placed his glasses on his IKEA shelf last night, and then watched as they slid downdowndown to NeverToBeSeenAgainLand, also known as Dee's Bedroom Floor.
Because, as you can see, his room would not be described as immaculate.
The crap you see in the above photo is actually everything that was found beside and beneath Dee's bed. Because that's how Dee cleans his room. He takes everything off his floor and surrounding areas, and stuffs it all under his bed, and in-between his bed and the IKEA bookcase. Out of sight, out of mind, right?
So, after spending a good length of time searching for his glasses all for naught, Mr. Handsome found Dee's older pair and handed them to him so that he would at least be able to sort of see for the day. And then I drove him to school because he was already late, and Dee was all chipper and happy, singsonging the whole drive in (which is only about 3 minutes), all smiles, which is not unusual for Dee, but still, it was making me crazy because of the way I had been forced out of bed against my will, and that's after having to sleep in a cloud of Mr. Handsome's After Roast Beef Dinner Farty Haze.
Which, now that I think about it, is perhaps why Dee's glasses fell in the first place: Mr. Handsome's seemingly perpetual nighttime roasty gaseous emissions could have possibly infiltrated Dee's bedroom, which is just down the hall a tad, and forcefully knocked his glasses to the floor. Or, better yet, the stomach-turning farty stench may have caused Dee's glasses to disintegrate into nothingness, never to be seen again.
I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted.
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