Just ten more minutes

Sleeping is my favorite part of this whole life thing (only because I don't get much of it), edging out hot fudge sundaes and foot lickings. I need about eight hours of sleep a day and at least that many at night.

You can imagine the ringing in my ears, then, when the alarm clock goes off.

Due to a tragic series of events resulting in corporate employment, my hubby wakes up at 5 a.m. every day, regardless of when he fell asleep the night before. There should be a law against that kind of sweatshop mentality. I told him: If the alarm clock wakes you up, you're not getting enough to dream about. Why would anyone want you to show up in that state? Yet clocks are beeping and buzzing at ungodly hours all over the world.

Alarm, n. 1. Sudden fear caused by the portent of danger. 2. The conventional way to start the day.

Here's the rub: Alarm clocks don't wake up only the intended; they wake up everyone in the room. So every morning at five, I, an innocent by sleeper, am shaken from my peach tree by a sound much like the WRONG buzzer on Family Feud over and over until someone, sweet mercy, turns it off. EH-EH-EH-EH

If that is where it ended, I would sink back into my feathers and forget. But my hubby (God love him), instead of facing the fact that sleep is over and his life has come to this, rolls over and hits ... THE SNOOZE BAR.

Snooze bar, n. A device invented by Satan to torture those of us who don't work for a self-employed sweatshop.

Call me old-fashioned, but I can't sleep ten minutes at a time. When my husband hits that snooze button, I start to fidget, knowing that in 600 seconds, about the time it takes to nod off, I will suffer sudden fear caused by the portent of danger. EH-EH-EH-EH

One morning I held a summit with my bedmate. I expressed concern for something I hold dear -- our marriage -- and explained how he could protect that concern by giving up the snooze bar. I even came up with a catchy slogan: "You snooze, I lose." He's not big on slogans. Claiming to have no recollection of doing so -- every Alarmie's excuse -- my hubby continued to roll over and buy himself ten more minutes of sleep. And I continued to dream of hurting alarm clocks. If he couldn't recall the crime, how could I prosecute? What a lovely ruse. Perhaps my husband should rob a bank in his PJs and, if the police arrive, wake up!

I had to do something. So one night, with a screwdriver, I chiseled the snooze bar right out of that wretched machine. You'd be surprised at how difficult it was (I nearly spilled my screwdriver). Sealing the hole with putty and coating it with nail polish, I was done. Insomnia makes strange bedfellows.

When my husband got home, there was a real Family Feud. I thought he might go marital or lighting bug on me, which is like going postal but not so warm and fuzzy.

Because I withdrew to my happy place, I can't relate exactly what he said; it had something to do with escaping, mental breakdowns, and nail polish stains on the comforter. My hubby had another idea, which he explained in stark detail as one might a ghost story around the campfire.

"You see, my meddling friend, this particular clock has two alarms in case both husband and wife hold real jobs... "He described how, instead of "occasionally" hitting snooze -- not telling the truth here -- he would now set both alarms, ten minutes apart, so that the clock would go off twice no matter what. Guaranteed snooze!

I come to you with two choices: I can succumb to the new system, or I can accidentally annihilate the machine. I'm pretty sure that I can't use nail polish without ending my life. And according to my husband, where I am going there is no bed, just a giant alarm clock that goes off every ten minutes for all eternity.

Some parts of this story may be hazardous to my health, but in reality it's all in fun! Have a Happy Day!