It's The Hubster's birthday.
The half century one. One that most people celebrate with gaiety, frivolity, merry making and friends.
Not at our house.
Wildly barking dogs woke us up at 3:30ish this morning. Our dogs. Hubby's dogs.
"Steve, please shut your dogs up. It's too early, even for me!" I mumbled, trying to nudge the incoherent snoring form beside me.
"Hmmm, mmehhnnmmm, frummm ummm," grumbled my husband.
But wonders of wonders, he arose and sleepily wandered down the hall to the door to our basement. His deep toned, rumbled "command" echoed down the stairway. Dog nails clicked along the hallway as Spouse came back to bed, bedroom door slamming behind him.
More crazed barking ensued from regions below.
"STEVE!" I spoke sharply. "I thought you were going to stop the dogs from barking!"
Now I am sitting straight up in bed. The clock steadily glowed 3:42 a.m.
In the morning.
It was still pitch black outside.
"Sadie didn't want to stop," replied groggy Mate.
"What?" I demanded. "She's a DOG! Make her stop!"
"I CAN'T!" proclaimed Steve.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and vaulted upright into my slippers. Grabbing my robe I headed out the bedroom door. Swinging the basement door open, I demanded Sadie to "come".
She did. I then put her in our room with Steve and our other dog Finn, and went into the kitchen to make coffee. I'm one of those people who, once awake, find it impossible to go back to sleep.
At 4:21 a.m. The Hubster's alarm for work goes off. Yah, I know. Weird time. But hey, he has Asperger's Syndrome and it makes sense to him.
As he enters the kitchen to put together his lunch, I wish him happy birthday. I then ask some sort of question for which I simply need information in order to figure out our plans for later on.
"Why are you ALWAYS complaining?" demands the Birthday 'Boy'. "For every seven words you speak, you are complaining about something with six! EVERY TIME!"
Whoooooaaahhhh! Say what?
"Steve, don't people at work ask you about your schedule at work in order to plans meetings and stuff?"
He grudgingly admitted they do.
"That's all I'm trying to do! I am trying to plan our day!"
He huffed and gruffed, and ambled away. Stomping, of course, to the shower where he proceeded to raise a total ruckus by dropping the bar soap, slamming his elbows into the showerstall walls, and other assorted bangs and crashes that resounded throughout the house.
On his way out the door I told him that Manlet and I would be gone, and stay out of his way tonight. He said "fine" and slammed the door.
Happy Birthday, Sweetie. Can I shove your cake in your face?