writing doodle - introduction 2

I tugged the edge of the pillow from beneath our mutual heads hoping to dislodge the thing gently.  An early morning song of the Black and Decker symphony wasn't on my playlist for the morning and a pillow a day might keep the racket away.  When my mother taught me manners, it was things like: don't talk with your mouth full, stand up when a lady enters the room, use please and thank you, use a napkin opposed to a sleeve at meals, and put the toilet seat down.  Never did she ever mention anything about pillow sharing etiquette  so I figured I was safe.

The little voice in my head didn't approve of the apparent hangover as an excuse to be inattentive to my erstwhile guest.  One solid tug of the pillow and I could blot out the Miss Manners wannabe in my head.

Do the manners police cover things like pillow etiquette   What about mattress equity?  Is there a possibility that maybe, just maybe, it would be OK to flip a coin to see who had dibs on the extra blanket in winter?  With my luck, the MP, manners police, would be headed by my mother and there is no way I want to know how many of these kinds of squabbles she ever had to break up.

I tugged again and met resistance, drool, and one brown eye.

The only words that came to mind were, "What big eyes you have, Grandmother."  Wearing only a pair of socks and a little red, knit cap didn't really cast me in the role of Little Red Ridinghood, any more than my hairy chest casts me in the role of Big Bad Wolf.  Based on the glare, I was highly suspect my guest would appreciate being called Grandma.

Since the pillow was no longer much of an option, I unceremoniously yanked up the sheets and blankets in attempt to cover my head.  I was greeted by resistance and a a long and stark rip of the sheets.  With a deep breath in, I attempted to roll to my side and promptly greeted a pile of wet laundry on the floor.

I fumbled through my jeans for my cellphone to determine the time.  Nine-seventeen, Friday the thirteenth.

Perfect.