I was woken from a deeeeeep sleep this morning by hubby going ‘beep beep, beep beep, beep beep …’
‘Eh, g-g-g-wha? isi time ta ger-gup?’ I said sleepily.
‘Yes, and I want my coffee in bed!’ replied hubby. Well, how cruel! ’Seemed a shame to wake you from such a deep sleep,’ he said cheerfully.
‘Didn’t stop you from doing it,’ I grumbled, climbing creakily (and crankily) out of bed.
‘Well, no. You told me yesterday, when it was actually your turn to make the coffee but I made it, that I should have woken you up and gone “Get out of bed you lazy bird, it’s your turn to make the coffee.” I didn’t do it then so I’m doing it now …’
Me and my big mouth! He’s quite right, I did say that yesterday. I don’t know what possessed me.
I groggily hunted for something to put on over my nightie and found a tatty, ratty and definitely catty old jumper. ‘What?’ I hear you cry. ‘Doesn’t the poor penguin even has a dressing-gown to keep her aching bones warm?’ Well yes … it’s warm and pink and very, very snug … and I’m sure the cat lovers among you will understand when I say:
But in the end I’m glad hubby got me up relatively early, because I managed to squeeze in some exercise before starting my mammoth New Year cookathon, and of course I feel a lot better for it.
Isn’t motivation a funny thing? I (almost) always feel better for a 20-minute embarrassing bop in front of an exercise video, and yet I can rarely motivate myself to do it! Mind you, it’s a darned sight easier when I’m not at work for nine hours a day. I guess that’s the fundamental difference. Anyone think I’m overworking?