Ouch!

Why do I bother telling my husband anything? Really, you hear this all the time in marriages, "you never TELL me anything" but the reason is because "YOU NEVER FUCKING LISTEN"!

This past Friday I had off. I had to work the previous Saturday and I'm a 9-5er type o' gal. When I found out that I'd have to put in a Saturday (roughly two weeks prior) I confirmed with my boss that I could take a comp day the following Friday. Not a problem.

As soon as I knew this I made a point of telling hubby. I gave him the whole lowdown. The "working Saturday, comp day Friday" thing. The whole story. We spoke IN DETAIL about what I'd be doing during my Saturday of work and what I'd be doing on my Friday of comp time. There were many and various conversations about this singular topic during the two-week lead-up time.

One thing I can say was that by the time Friday rolled around I could really USE a day to sleep in. My plan was to get up with the dogs when they woke me up (which I knew would be no later than 6:15AM), feed them then go back to bed until I was damn good and ready to roll my ass out.

Our handyman had come to do some much-needed work in our back room on Thursday. We had secured the dogs and made the room accessible to him but I had no additional word on where that little project was when he left for the day, having heard nothing my assumption was that it was either done, or he'd be back at another time to complete the job (it involved spackling and that shit needs to dry before more work can be done).

The dogs woke me at just before 6AM. I happily rolled out of bed and got them through their morning routine comforted by the lure of more bedtime in about 20 minutes.

Sure enough, by 6:15 I was snuggling back down into dreamland. Mmmmmmm.

Just fifteen short minutes later, hubby got up to use the bathroom and left the bedroom door open which prompted our youngest dog to jump on me full force, whimpering and pawing at me. WTF?

Hubby comes back into the bedroom, chases the young 'un out and then turns to me and says, "OMG, ITS LATE, YOU NEED TO GET READY FOR WORK!" The background music to this announcement was the sound of the dogs crying in the hallway because now they KNEW mommy was home and they couldn't get to her. FUCK!

I wanted to cry.

I sat up, looked at him and said, "its Friday…ITS THAT FRIDAY…the one I have off and can sleep late …THAT FRIDAY…THAT FUCKING FRIDAY!" His response, <sheepishly> "oops, did you tell me 'bout that? Yeah, I guess you DID. Oopsie."

DUDE, not cool.

Now this is a man who lives by his 10-hour nights of sleep, a minute less and he can't function. Sleep is his deepest desire. The guy craves sleep, can sleep through anything (including a dog wretching inches from his head). If I do ANYTHING during my getting-ready time that jars him from his peaceful slumber I hear about it ENDLESSLY. Seriously, I cannot disturb his peaceful dreams for any reason but somehow it's just fine for him to completely ignore my much-touted comp day and nearly push me out of bed to get ready to go…nowhere.

At this point there was no way I could effectively stay in bed. The dogs all knew my eyes were open and were harmonizing their mournful wailing. I was up. I was pissed.

So instead of languishing in bed until the midday hour of 8:30AM or thereabouts I was up and moving before 7AM. I was fuming.

My oldest dog (she's 12) had a vet visit scheduled for 11:30AM (routine shots, no biggie) so I decided to try to get some clean-up done before I showered for the day. I'm in my jammie pants and a ratty sweatshirt with fuzzy slippers on…a picture of loveliness.

Suddenly the dogs start going nutso and someone knocks on the door. I look and it's STEVE, our handyman. Nope, no one warned me he'd be here but here he is (mind you, he's a great guy and we're lucky to have someone reliable enough to actually show up, this wasn't his fault). Of course the house had been un-dogproofed since I had no pre-Steve alert which meant quickly re-dogproofing the Steve area and getting the dogs inside the house so Steve could get to work in the backroom. Sometime during the dogproofing/barking frenzy hubby wanders downstairs in his bathrobe demanding to know what the hell all the commotion was about, his sleep was being disturbed.

REALLY? FUCKING REALLY DUDE? You woke me up when I didn't have to get up, you failed to tell me that Steve would be back on Friday morning and now you're upset because you've had to roll out of bed? WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

I asked if he had any idea that Steve would be back today to which he replied, "oops, uh I forgot to tell you didn't I?" Yup, ya did. Thanks for that.

With the dogs secured and Steve secured from the dogs I decided it might be time to get my ass in the shower and get ready for the dog's vet appt. I head to the shower only to find that hubby had taken up residence in the bathroom, he was getting ready for work.

Despite his claims of being the fastest person to EVER get ready to go ANYWHERE he is sadly mistaken. He rivals any woman I know when it comes to morning rituals and getting ready. He just cannot jump start that process. There's coffee and sitting and staring at a muted TV then there's a slow but steady slump towards the bathroom.

As the clock ticked down to my shower deadline the bathroom remained out of reach so I continued getting crap done in the kitchen and basement. I headed out of the kitchen carrying a load of folded towels when a freshly showered hubby is spotted heading towards me with a coffee cup tilted up obscuring his view while he attempts to text someone with his spare hand. We're both heading into a small section of hallway, me seeing the impending doom as he bears down on me, him oblivious to the world around him.

I bobbed and weaved to try to get out of his way but with three dogs trailing me I had few options. I called out for him to LOOK OUT but his obliviousness knows no bounds so despite the fact he was mere inches from me and I was SHOUTING he claims he never heard me.

The result? He conks me dead center of my forehead with the fucking coffee mug plastered to his face which is when he somehow managed to rouse himself from his walking-dead stupor. His first question? Why didn't you say something? DUDE, I was screaming for you to LOOKOUT and you were nowhere to be found…you had figuratively left the building.

OMG. That was how my big, wonderful COMP DAY got off to a start. Jeez, work would've been a more restful option.