The Morning Glory People

I call them Morning Glory People, and I don't mean that in a good way. They're more like mosquitoes, blooming on a rose bush...with thorns...that gouge my flesh. I can't stand these people, all chirping around like chipmunks at a nut farm.

They make the roosters in the neighborhood look like Lunesta addicts. These dawn breakers hop out of bed and into the shower and then into their clothes, all in one swift motion. And they do it all without yawning even once, nor stubbing a single toe on the closet door. Neither do they fall face first over their husband's work boots lying in the hallway. In ten minutes tops they have the beds made, Martha Stewart style, and they have a huge breakfast on the table that makes Waffel House look like a hot dog stand. Five minutes later they're dancing out the door like Dorthy on her way to see the Wizard. I hate these people.

Me? The clock alarms for thirty minutes, the sun rises higher in the sky, the garbage man cometh, and the dog has given up and peed in the corner by the time I finally roll over and open one eye. I drag myself out of bed looking like the female version of Kramer. On my good mornings I might have on one slipper and my robe accidently right side out. Trying not to stretch anything except my endurance, I walk into the wall and bang my elbows on the door frame on the way to the kitchen. After my morning trip face-first over the ottoman, I get up off the floor and rub my flattened nose back into a point, then I'm ready for my first cup of coffee.

I always make the coffee at night because pouring a cup is about all I can manage in the mornings. Sometimes it's so strong it will leap out of the pot and into my cup all by itself. I've thought about applying for a patent on my coffee. It could be mixed into chicken feed and sold to the chicken farmers. After about a week of eating this special food, the hens would become so nervous they would lay scrambled eggs. Hey, it'd be a great time saver. Well..I thought it was a good idea... I can thread a sewing machine while it's running, so why wouldn't it work for the hens?


When I was out in the work force, I always got out of bed one hour earlier than was necessary just so I would have some extra time to stumble around, and not talk to anyone or have a single thought. If you really want to get my Hanes-Her-Ways in a bunch, just ask me a question early in the morning.

We have a rule in my house. Unless you are dying or the house is on fire, do not speak to me until I have had my coffee. I am incapable of speech or thought for at least thirty minutes, two cups of bitter coffee and a cigarette. (Yep. I still smoke! It's my house, my coffee cup full of ashes and my bathrobe covered with burn holes... Besides, without this wheeze, no one would recognize my voice on the phone.)

My sister-in-law is a morning glory. I think if I went to her house at five o'clock in the morning, (which ain't never gonna happen) she would have already had her shower, her face would be made up and every hair would be in place. The beds would be made and she would have done 27 loads of laundry, dusted, vaccumed, washed the windows and rearanged the garbage and be sitting on the back porch watching the sunrise while sipping her coffee.

Hubby once toyed with the idea of buying a small farm, complete with cows, pigs and chickens.

"Wouldn't it be great being a farmer's wife?" he asked. "I can just picture us milking the cows, slopping the hogs and gathering fresh eggs early in the morning."

"How early?" I squealed.

"Way before sunrise" he answered, a twinkle in his eye.

After he broke open an ammonia capsule, waved it under my nose and brought me to, he told me he was just kidding.

What a relief! I don't milk anything except the jar of CoffeMate that early.