Hey there! Mr. M here to relay a little story that, well, still makes me smile in line while waiting for food and prompts odd stares from passers-by who think I must be commenting on the fact that they’re wearing 5-year-old Kate Spade fashion. But seriously, as much as K might wish it, there’s no way I can distinguish Kate Spade from Marc Jacobs, etc. Sorry.
I’m sure that many of you share this in common with K, but it was relatively new to me when we got together. She hates (and by hates, I mean Pete-Carroll-is-the-devil-to-UCLA-esque hatred) waking up in the morning.
In seeming recognition of this trait, K has instituted her own version of 30-minute amnesia every morning. During this 30 minutes, whatever K says or does is wiped from her memory and should have no bearing on how others view her throughout the day. As an example, three weeks ago, I attempted to wake K up. We actually sat there and talked for five minutes about what I was going to do that day and who would pick up L from school (Hint: it wasn’t me). Then at 5:45 (deadline for pickup is 6:00), K strolls in the front door of our house, sans L, and then proceeds to tell me that no such discussion took place. Needless to say, I drove frantically to daycare and got L before the $25/5 minute fee hit. And this is not an isolated example. Most end either in physical violence towards me or at least a swear or two. (Kim’s edit: no husbands have been hurt in this process while I was conscious) The only thing that is constant is the amnesia. So I have affectionately termed this alternate persona (since K disavows any responsibility for things determined during “the dark period”) as Evil K. I have even asked at certain points, “am I talking to Evil K or Normal K?” Sometimes it requires a pinch along with the question – but those are used sparingly because if it happens to be Normal K that I’m talking to pre-pinch, it quickly changes to Pissed-Off K, which (trust me here) you never want so see… like ever.
At any rate, while doing my shopping for Christmas, I came across a little gem called Clocky: Alarm Clock on Wheels. The idea is that when Clocky starts going off at the pre-determined time, it rolls off the nightstand and somewhere into the room, so you need to get up to shut it off. And so all the snooze button champions will have to hang up their gloves for this one. One thing that I missed on the box, however, and that will be important later is the light show that goes with the sounds and movement.
Fast forward to Christmas day, K gives me the obligatory eyeroll as she unwraps Clocky knowing full well that my latest attempt to get her up at a reasonable hour will likely fail the same way that the WALL-E alarm clock did. You see, WALL-E worked when I gave it to K. But evidently his snooze button was a little hard to find, so K resorted to bashing his head in. Apparently if you hit him on the head hard enough, he shuts up. So now that he looks like a broken pile of bits, I needed something else… enter Clocky.
Then comes Clocky’s first night on… January 6th.
K doesn’t really tell me that she’s turning it on, but I notice him on the nightstand and figure, “what the heck? This could be fun.” She also doesn’t tell me what time she sets the alarm for. Jump to 6:30 (again, K never sets her alarm to anytime before 7:15 on normal days). Should also note that the sun didn’t rise on this day until 7. So 6:30 hits and all hell breaks loose. There is first a “BOOOM!” (Clocky weighs a couple pounds and I guess our nightstands are abnormally high)… then robot sounds like something you’d hear in a 50’s horror movie… and one half of the room is lit up in flashing lights. The dog, who had been sleeping under the bed, is a blur of black furr streaking towards the closet. Kim instinctively swings out with her left arm hitting me in the chest, presumably assuming I had something to do with this sensory assault, but then shoots up from bed screaming “what the #$@%!!!!” (I found out later that Evil K – who was apparently in charge in the beginning – had decided that we were, in fact, under attack by aliens). She jumps off the bed, sheets and covers flying everywhere, grabs the alarm clock and bashes it into submission. … … now I am generally a very compassionate being, but I could not stop laughing until at least 20 minutes later. K, however, was up and showered in 15 minutes.
So… dear Clocky, while you may no longer be with us, you have shown me that it is possible for K to be up and at ‘em like the rest of the world. Next attempt… modified Chinese water torture.