Throwback Thursday

From our newlywed days:

I never realized how deeply rooted I am in my morning routine until my husband started working the day shift. After several years of working nights, he had forgotten how it works to get up in the morning. So the Sunday night before our first day of going to work at the same time, we were making our arrangements to carpool.

“What time do you get up?” he asked me, probably expecting a simple two-second response and a kiss goodnight.

“What time do I get up, or what time does the alarm go off? It’s a complicated process. The actual alarm goes off at 6:00 a.m., which is really about 5:40 because the clock is fast.”

“Why don’t you just set the clock to the right time and set the alarm for 5:40?” he asked, logically enough.

“Because,” I guffawed, “5:40 is too early to have to wake up.”

He paused dramatically to let the stupidity of my statement sink in, and then said slowly and loudly, as if I had a learning disability, “Yes, but you’re waking up at 5:40 every day as it is. Just because the clock says 6:00, you know it’s still 5:40.”

“No, I don’t. I’m so sleepy that I’m fooled into believing it’s really 6:00.”

“Every morning?” he guffaws.

“Yes. So anyway, the alarm goes off at 6:00 and I hit the snooze, because 6:00 is too early to get up, and I’m still tired. I sleep till the alarm goes off again at 6:07 and then I hit snooze. I then get my Bible and devotional magazine off the nightstand, put them next to my pillow, and sleep till the alarm goes off at 6:14. Then I hit snooze and read my daily devotional until the alarm goes off again at 6:21. Then I lie in bed and listen to my favorite program on the radio. After it’s over, I go to the bathroom, go downstairs and feed the cats, and get back in bed. When the clock says 6:48, I have to get up and take a shower.”

“So you actually get up at 6:30.”

“Whatever. All I know is that I have to be out of the shower at 6:50, according to the bathroom clock, which is about ten minutes fast.”

“Why. . .?” he starts to form a question but thinks better of it and just resigns himself to never understanding. “Then what?”

“Then I get dressed and get ready. I have to be downstairs at 7:30 by my watch, which is about five minutes fast, so that I can pack my lunch and be out the door at 7:32 by the clock on the stove, which is the actual time. When I get in the car, it should say 7:38 because it’s exactly six minutes fast. I listen to another radio program on the way to work. At 7:45 by the car clock, I meet Boxcar Lady on the road and wave to her and then. . .”

“Who?”

“Who what?”

“Who do you wave at?”
“Boxcar Lady. I call her that because she drives this little green car that’s shaped like a box. She must be pretty wacko about her schedule because I meet her at the same time on the road every morning.”
“Does she wave back?”

“No, I don’t think she knows me. But then I see Jack Joe a few minutes later and she sometimes waves.”

“Why. . .”

“Because her license plate is J-A-K J-O 4. When I turn onto Middle Road, I meet the McHugh family in their van. Their license plate is “M-C-H-U-E”, and one time I saw them pulling out of their driveway (when they were running late) and I noticed their mailbox said, “McHugh” so that’s how I know them.”

I couldn’t tell if the look on his face was amusement or disbelief. “And then I get to work at 7:56 car time, which is 7:50 real time and 7:45 company time. I put my lunch away, turn my computer on, and punch in by 8:00. That’s it!” I finished triumphantly.

He said, “I can’t live like that,” rolled over, and went to sleep.