I’m up and at it bright and early this morning, since I have figured out that leaving fifteen minutes earlier in the morning makes me hate the slow, constantly delayed Brown line just a little bit less.
I’ll take it.
I’m also up a little earlier this morning because JW and I have come to a lifestyle impasse, my friends.
Sometime in the past two months, our home has been sharply divided on what is swiftly becoming a pivotal issue.
The issue of the snooze button, chickadees.
I hate the snooze button. I’ve never used it in my life. If it’s time to get up, well that totally sucks, but it’s time to get up, and there’s no avoiding it. Get out of bed, and get on with it.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
In general, I set an alarm only because I don’t want to tempt fate, and if you told me I needed to be up by six, my eyes would jolt open at 5:58.
I know this is not the norm.
However, three jarring, snooze-button induced alarms make me homicidal in the morning, especially since I don’t technically have to be up for any of them.
After both of us were awake this morning, I again told JW how his snooze habit was ruining my life, when he showed me that in actuality, it wasn’t the snooze button he was hitting.
“I have three alarms,” he showed me on his iPhone. Three alarms set to go off within minutes of each other.
“But you only have to wake up once!” I reasoned, waving my hands and sighing simultaneously, which is not an easy thing to do at 7:00 am.
It was of no use though- I don’t think I’ve convinced him, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be treating to the blaring, electronic tones of Steve Jobs and his crew for mornings to come.
Snooze is for the weak, chicks. You can’t convince me otherwise.