She Hates Me

It’s settled. Alice hates me. Why else would she make me get up at 5:24am? Because she’s hungry? Because her diaper’s wet? Because she wants attention? No. It’s because in her conniving, calculating, cruel and nasty little mind, she wants to torture me.

It’s working.

So. I’m up. I’ve been up for over an hour. I’ve done a load and a half of laundry… Waiting for the second one to dry so I can fold it, too. Helen’s still not up. Jerry’s not either, but that’s not unusual — he usually doesn’t get up until 8 or so.

I’m thinking that if she does this to me again tomorrow, I’m just going to go for a walk. With her, of course. So tonight I’ll get out my tennis shoes and socks and clothes to walk in, and we’ll hit the pavement at 6am. If she’s going to be my little alarm clock, I might as well jumpstart my metabolism in the process.