It started with Bill’s cold and nagging cough.
To avoid germs and assure peaceful slumber, I moved to the guest room.
I woke up at 9:00 that morning thinking, “Wow, it’s really late and I NEVER wake up at 9AM. There must be something wrong with me.”
I even wrote the whole event down in a journal to take to the doctor at checkup time.
A day or so later (while still languishing in solitary confinement) I woke up at a more acceptable 8AM.
Regaining consciousness is sometimes a bit of a feat but I managed to glance at the clock and thought,
“Why do I not hear Bill in the kitchen?”
To further explain this you need to know Bill is a man you can tell time by.
Example: He used to take GI showers (rinse, turn off water, lather, rinse).
One day Son called and asked to talk to his Dad.
“He’s in the shower,” I said. “Oh,” said Son, “Is he on the first or second wash?”
You get the idea right? We can tell where Bill is at any given moment.
And he is normally in the kitchen at 7:15 AM SHARP making his own breakfast.
I studiously avoid Bill in the kitchen because I tend to give him morning sickness.
Lest you judge my wifely aptitude, I used to make his breakfast but he could never eat it because he said he felt sick.
One day I didn’t wake up in time and he made his own breakfast and felt fine.
He determined I made him ill and has made his own breakfast ever since.
Anyway, on this particular morning from my place of solitary confinement in the spare bedroom, I was listening for Bill in the kitchen.
He is usually promptly there puttering at 7:15 AM. The clock said 8:00 AM and there was utter silence!
I struggled to fully wake and kept looking at that clock. Waiting. Waiting. 8:10AM. 8:11AM. Where was Bill?
And I had a panicky thought. “Maybe he is dead. What should I do?
Should I take a mirror in to test his breath? No, I will wait a little longer.”
At 8:15, I became overwrought so staggered into the master bedroom.
Sure enough, Bill was there but he turned and looked up slightly blinded when I put the light on.
“What’s wrong???” he groaned.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Yes,” said he. “Why?”
“It’s 8:15,” I said.
“No, it’s only 7:00 AM! Go back to sleep.”
And so it was that the clock in the guest room was wrong.
It was wrong the day I thought I slept until 9AM and it was wrong the day I thought I lost Bill.
Although there was after all, a happy ending, I am furious and have further lost faith in anything electronic or digital.
I am convinced we need to regress to simpler times for wind up clocks with numbers that do not light up.
A horse and carriage would be nice too.
Virginia Views 