Friday, 23 March 2012

Morning Man


Morning Man

My wife is always boasting about how she can jump out of bed in the mornings. I tried it once and fell over the balcony railings. Fortunately, I landed on my wife’s mother who was outside patrolling the patio while smoking her morning fag. Somehow, and to this day I still do not know how, we both came out of it okay and my darling wife has finally accepted that mornings are not for me. Nowadays she just lets me lie there staring at the ceiling. I often contemplate how she would react if I told her I was having an affair with her sister. I’m not having an affair with her sister but you can’t deny that her reaction to such news would bring some life to the day. I often wonder if that makes me a sadist but I don’t think it does. Bob, a guy who I work with, runs off to the toilets as soon as his lunch break begins and sticks pins in a voodoo doll resembling his wife. That ain’t right. He’s the sadist.

Margaret, the lass who sits opposite me in work, is a lovely young lady but her parents gave her an old lady’s name. I think that’s half the reason she glued her ex to the wall and left him there for five days. She’s got some strange ways that girl. She bites her nails and tells ridiculous tales about how she used to be an acrobat in Moscow’s Travelling Circus but got fired for eating too many cupcakes.

Then there’s Billy. He runs the place and you can see it on his face. The poor bloke is on his arse. He used to hand out Quality Street, now he just hands out P45’s. You have to forgive him though; he’s had five wives and two of them turned out to be men who were just after his money. When I think about it I am definitely not the sadist, that’s for sure.

Anyway, I get out of bed at about midday at which point my wife is usually stood at the end of the bed ironing my shirt ready for work. I give her a kiss, walk downstairs, say hello to her mother and put the kettle on. It’s around about this time that the day gets too much for me so I have to stop thinking and put on my working head. I hover about the house for half an hour or so and then it’s time to go. This is the low. I get to work, politely nod to everyone else and crack on with the paperwork – I average fifteen paper cuts a day which is well below the office average. By the end of the day my head usually hurts. I get back home, say hello to everyone, eat, watch the television and go to bed. I really just want to sleep by this point so there’s no time for contemplation but one thing’s for sure; getting out of bed in the morning is going to be a bitch.

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