I woke up Sunday morning and thought Blair was dead.
We were sleeping in separate bedrooms because I've AGAIN come down with the crud and he was trying not to catch it. But we'd made an appointment on Saturday to have a Road Runner cable technician come to our house early Sunday morning--sometime between 7:30 - 10 AM. So when we went to bed Saturday, I asked Blair to make sure I was up no later than 7--no problem for the God of Dawn who gets up at 5 even on weekends.
So imagine my surprise when I awoke--on my own--Sunday morning and saw the clock read 7:02. I got up and walked to the kitchen. The cats hadn't been fed and were rubbing ar0und my feet. "Oh my God, your daddy's dead," I said, hoping I was only kidding. I didn't really think he was dead and yet there was an unease present on my part. Blair never sleeps in. What could have happened?
Only one way to find out. I climbed the stairs to the guest bedroom. I half expected the bed to be empty but a lump was present under the covers. Good. I could rule out "alien abduction."
I reached out and touched the lump. It started, then sat up.
"Oh good, you're alive," I said. "I was worried."
"What time is it?" asked Blair, stretching.
"Seven." I replied.
"No wonder you were worried," said Blair. "You must have thought I was dead."
So do you think we're a little regimented? All was well. The cable guy turned up about 9, tightened a screw and told us he hoped that did the trick. Blair made pancakes. The cats played in the discarded newspaper. I coughed and sneezed into a tissue.
All is right with the world.