BRIBES . . . in the Form of Sprinkles?
Her hand floundered around the nightstand like a fish fresh out of water in search of the source for that horribly repetitive blaring sound. Finally, a forceful smack silenced the offending alarm clock. The noise stopped and abrupt silence followed. “There is a God!” she thought as she gathered her bearings. This morning was just like all the others and, after 15 years, she knew the drill: She’d hear the alarm. She’d get up. She’d feed the dog, make the coffee, wake their son, turn on the news, and then rush to take her own shower a full half hour before Dave would realize the world had woken up. Sometimes she was jealous of his ability to sleep through what could have been an Amtrak train barreling through their bedroom, but she also knew she didn’t like the guilt that came with a late start in the morning. Anything after 6 AM was late for Cybil, even on the weekends.
But she also learned long ago that making him get up at the same time as her created a very “difficult” Dave. So she let it go, among a long list of other things that she ceased to worry about for her own sanity. It was her way of dealing with that difficulty, and she found that if she didn’t ask much of him, the difficulty seemed to disappear, at least any that was expressed verbally. What went on in her head continued to be another story, but it just never seemed ...