You’ve all seen the movies where the beautiful female lead wakes up in the morning to bird song, sunshine streaming through lace curtains, her cheeks pink and her hair perfectly coiffed.
Woodland creature flock to her breathtaking loveliness, and the day always starts with a song.
Suffice it to say that I do not wake up as gracefully as Cinderella.
All those coffee mugs and night shirts that are emblazoned with the phrase “I Don’t Do Mornings,” were created specifically with me in mind. My alarm clock is my least favorite item in our house (including dirty litter and the cob web that keeps appearing in my living room window). It has been beaten, smacked, and punched so many times, there are bits of plastic missing from its face. It’s a miracle the thing still works.
And when I wake up in the morning, I’m less-than-dewey-fresh. I always, always have “Edward Cullen” hair. Oh c’mon…you know, like this:
|Except he styles his this way on purpose. (source)|
There’s almost always crap in my eyes and sometimes at the corner of my mouth. I have bags under my eyes big enough to carry a week’s worth of groceries. A giant zit will have formed on my chin overnight that rivals most 13 year old boys on the cusp of puberty. My grey hair multiplies by factors of ten. And let’s not forget about the lone chin hair that manages to grow to an inch in length from bedtime to rise-n-shine. In short, I don’t resemble Cinderella in the slightest. I look more like her 30-something-year-old ugly step cousin.
My husband is always patient with me, especially on mornings when I get up super-early to help him get out the door for work or class on time. He gently points me in the direction of the coffee maker, ignoring the curse words muttered under my breath, usually in his direction. He moves furniture and cats out of my path, so they don’t get tripped over or tread upon.
Not to say that he doesn’t find humor in my less-than-graceful state upon waking. He may or may not have made references to movie characters before. And we’re not talking about glamorous starlets or adorable cartoon divas. Oh no. We’re talking more along the lines of giant lizards with fire breath whose only concern is stalking its prey.
Because, you see, there are 3 things that need to happen before I’m ready to welcome the morning with a song: a hot shower, a hotter cup of coffee, and at least 15 minutes in front of my make-up mirror. After copious amounts of hair gel and concealer, and a second cup of coffee, I’m much more presentable to the general public.
|Cool mug, huh? I designed it. You can buy it HERE.|
By cup number three, I’m officially a human being. I can keep up with normal conversation, I can answer the phone by the second ring, and I can even check my email without worrying that I’ll reply to something in a snarky manner. But it’s that first cup—that first steaming-hot cup of delicious fuel–that really starts the process. In fact, that first cup of coffee is so crucial to my ability to function in the real world, that I’m beginning to wonder how I ever made my way through life without it. I don’t remember being 8 years old, knowing that the only way I would be able to wake up as an adult was with the help of a jolt of caffeine (2 sugars and splash of half-and-half, please and thank you.)
I certainly don’t remember any of my teachers teaching me about the importance of morning coffee in math class.
I mean, it’s basic arithmetic. Am I wrong?