Belladonna's program starts in January.
She is sucking up every hour of work she can. Time will be at a premium after she starts the program. The last three mornings she has been out-the-door at 5:30 AM and back after six.
I miss the old girl. So I wake up at 5:00 AM to see her off.
Unfortunately, she decided that she can count on me to prevent her from over-sleeping. She hits the snooze, knowing that I will roust her out of bed fifteen minutes before she must leave.
She pretends to not hear me when I unlock her bedroom door. (OK, it is complicated. Her bedroom door is an exterior-grade, steel, fire-door with a Schlage dead-bolt lock. Entering her room is not done casually)
She pretends to not hear the German Shepherds' toenails clickity-clack on her hardwood floor.
She pretends to not notice the slice of Velveeta Cheese that I slick down on her exposed arm.
Then, she pretends to not notice the hounds-of-heck jumping on her bed to deprive her of her cheesy bracelet.
I leave the room. I trust the dogs to do what she would cut my head off had I dared to wake her.
Division-of-labor is a wonderful thing.
Isn't it rich, are we a pair Me here at last on the ground, and you in mid-air Send in the hounds Sleeping is bliss, you don't approve One who keeps tearing around, and one who can't move But where are the hounds, send in the hounds Just when I stopped hitting snooze Finally finding the dream that I wanted, was yours Making my entrance again with my usual flair Sure of my lines, nobody's there Don't you love a farts, my fault I fear I thought that you'd want what I want, sorry my dear But where are the hounds, send in the hounds Don't bother, they're here Isn't it rich, isn't it queer Losing my alarm-clock this late in my career But where are the hounds, send in the hounds Well maybe next year