Thursday, September 20, 2007

We’ve already been over this, people!

I DON’T DO MORNINGS! I don’t like mornings. You can’t make me.

There is nothing in my posture, as I read my e-mail--freshly exhumed from my cocoon--that suggests I am feeling friendly or chatty or in any way whatsoever akin to human. In fact, just think of me as the troll from "Three Billy Goats Gruff." But with startlingly less charm and generosity.

And a few hours later? While I quietly peruse blogs during my "coffee break"? Same rules apply. Don’t touch me. Don’t be near me. Don’t chew, swallow, breathe or allow your heart to beat where I can hear it. And don’t talk to me. And maybe try not to even be in the house. I’m busy. And it’s technically still morning. I don’t like morning. I don’t like people. And I particularly don’t like people in the morning.

So if you’re my child and I’m in the desk chair with a blanket wrapped around me in a Dracula-esque fashion? Don’t tell me about your adventures with the neighbor kids. I don’t care. And I’ll barely pretend to. "Hang glider made out of garbage bags, sticks and bungee cords? Mmmm hmmm. Sounds fine. Testing the hang glider by jumping off the top of the neighbor’s van while she drives down the road? Sure, honey. Sounds nice. Run along and play now."

And if you’re my husband? Buy. A. Vowel. Haven’t you known me since, oh I don’t know, I was a child of 17? And have I ever enjoyed your company before noon? All the old rules still apply. Plus some new ones. Like if you stand near me while my face is turned toward the hypnotic glow of the monitor and you open mail and discuss its contents AND you insist on being envelope-challenged and mangling the mail like this . . .

. . . there exists a significant chance that without warning I may reach over and stab you in the thigh with a broken pencil. Please leave me alone before this occurs. We can’t afford the medical bills. Or attorney fees.

And on that note, I would like to accept my "Nice Award" from Kuckie! How sweet of you!! And thank you!!!

Note to family: I am NOT a bearish, bilious, cantankerous, disagreeable, dyspeptic, ill-humored, ill-natured, ill-tempered, ornery, surly, sensitive, sulky, thin-skinned, touchy, selfish, bitch. Kuckie, a woman who lives far away and has never met me, says I’m nice. And there you go. Suck on that, family!

Post Script: On a serious note, I totally nominate Mary, Cheek and Whitenoise for the Nice Award--if these folks aren't the very definition of the word supportive, then . . . . well, then the real definition sucks : )


Geggie said...

I think you're nice too, really I do. But, I'd be scared of you after this post!! But, then again, you're not just "any" nice, you're "Award Winning" nice!

whitenoise said...

Aw, gee... thanks! ;-)

(Remembering never to call you before caffeine....)

Jennifer said...

I have to say, after reading that post, plus the linked one, I'd be afraid to call you any time, day or night. :-)

countrymouse said...

So we all agree, then? The fact that I'm in a customer service job is an okay thing? ; )

And Geggie--I am *so* going to hold onto that! I will be reminding my family OFTEN that I am "Award Winning Nice" : ) hee hee

Rick said...

It is 2:15 in the afternoon and so I feel safe to say congrats!

countrymouse said...

It may be 2:15 to you, but it's still 11:15 a.m. to me. It's still morning. Don't talk to me. Grrrrrr . . .

: )