My alarm clock has been a thorn in my side of late. You can’t predict when some strange mechanical disease will suddenly render it useless. Most of the time it works, but all of a sudden___________nothing. And I awaken, too late to write, late for the bus, driving my little boy madly to school. I threw it into the trash this week and petitioned the Hunky Hubby to choose a new alarm for me during his camp shopping trip.
He called, plastic or aluminum…a metal clock has to be better right? I mean, I’d gone with plastic before and look where that got me. How could aluminum fail? When the new clock came home I was pleased. It looked sturdy and shiny with two gleaming bell thingies on top and a nice healthy ticking sound coming from the works. This clock would never fail me. And it hasn’t.
But there is one teensey weensey little problem. It works too well. This alarm clock is actually a firehouse bell in disguise. It was designed to instantly levitate an entire room full of groggy nigh immovable men and propel them into full fire gear and a state of alertness conducive to driving large dangerous vehicles in all of 2.3 seconds. And my alarm is living up to its lifetime goal…only it was not purchased by a firehouse. No, it was purchased by a weary mother who wants to arise two hours before her three rowdy children. Luckily the Hunky Hubby has no interest in getting up at 4:00am and was happy to snuggle all of the restless little boys that stumbled into our room complaining of “Momma’s new clock” and it’s steroid boosted noise making abilities. Thank God for sleepy husbands.