Monday, January 10, 2011


The break of my day usually starts around 11 am or possibly might even slip into the 1 0'clock afternoon hour or later.  Of course my days usually end in the wee hours of the morning.  When I was gainfully employed, I sprang from my bed bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, exuberant and ready to excel at around 6 am or earlier.  This begs the question - why the dramatic change in schedule?  The answer lies simply in two words - Gal Friday (and every other day of the week).

Gal Friday (GF) is a true night owl and slowly and methodically has cast the bewitching-hours spell upon me until I too have become a predator of the darkness.  My father used to tell me I couldn't soar with the eagles in the morning if I partied with the owls at night.   Dad, if you were with us today, you'd be wondering what the hell kind of lifestyle I'm now living.  You wouldn't be the Lone Ranger as I wonder the same thing. 

GF tells me she has kept this type of schedule since college days many (many) years ago.  I asked her if those 8 o'clock classes were a little tough on her and she replied, "No, I just studied through the night and didn't go to bed."  Now I'll admit I pulled quite a few all-nighters in college, but they didn't have anything to do with studying...unless it was "How to Drink Beer 101" or upper level anatomy.  That's when I joined Tap-A-Keg-A-Day fraternity at ICU, the peek-a-boo school.  GF pledged I-Felt-A-Thigh sorority, but her grades were too high and they rejected the poor girl.

When she began her career path to eventually become a dean and vice-president of a highly respected community college, her sleeping habits got worse.  When people were supposed to be hitting the mattress for 8 hours, she thought the 8 looked like a 3.  Maybe this misconception came from tired eyes?  She put in more late hours than the night watchman.  People thought she forgot to turn off her office light at night, but they didn't realize she was in there churning away at the next committee report or strategic plan.  (My thought on committees...a great way to get a bunch of people together to dodge work.)

Since I have adopted this new late night schedule, I find it completely wonderful.  I get to see old movies I love; I miss the God-awful jarring of the early morning alarm; I love breakfast food and now I eat it between the hours of 1 pm to 4 pm when my taste buds are awake and alert.  Some days, when I seem a little too lethargic from staying in bed too long, I take a nap.  Works every time.  

You may notice some time lapses in my daily routine.  You may puzzle over the discrepancy or time lag between rising at 11 am and not breakfasting till 4 in the afternoon, or to put it another way, a mere 60 minutes prior to the cocktail hour.  No alcohol passes my lips until 5.  Of course if GF decides to surprise me with a breakfast Bloody Mary, I woefully accept it so I don't hurt her feelings - don't cha know.

The time lag is filled with GF preparing me for my day.  First she takes off my sleep apnea mask and gets me from the bed to my faithful Red Chariot, the greatest power chair in the world.  Roy Rogers didn't love Trigger any more than I adore my old faithful Red Chariot.  And I don't have to supply oats.  Next she shaves me and transports me to the shower chair where I sit under the shower head while she washes off yesterday's dirt from the dusty trail.  Allow me to give a little more detail about the shaving process.  My daughters gave me an expensive electric razor with all the bells and whistles.  This thing has 4-wheel drive, power everything and is turbo-charged.  I think it bakes cakes too.  It does everything a man could ask, with one exception; it doesn't shave worth a tinker's damn.

So instead of taking 10 minutes to scrape the hair off my face, GF keeps going over my now raw skin for about 45 minutes.  Then the next instrument she pulls from the cabinet of horrors is a shiny silver missile-like nose hair trimmer.  Oh, joy.  This is followed by another trimmer for my ears, neck and hairline.  Some days she retrieves the nail clippers and file too.  I shudder.  I'm not saying anything about the scissors 'cause I get nightmares just thinking about that scenario.  Our bathroom cabinet would make any psychopathic torturer a very happy man.

Now to the bathroom sink where she pours 3 different mouthwashes for me prescribed by my dentist, gynecologist and local veterinarian. (I get a little befuddled trying to keep straight which doctors do what.) Then she squeezes the toothpaste on my electric brush.  After my sad attempt at brushing, she dresses me which is no easy task.  By this time I'm hungry, but not man enough to ask her to cook breakfast.  I'm tired just talking about this, but her day is just beginning.  She is busy from when her little feet hit the floor until 3 to 4 in the morning.  I'm talkin' non-stop here.  She has cut down on the all-nighters, but not completely.

I was going to write more, but I'm tired. I think I'll take a nap!

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