I woke up this morning pretty sure that either I was being attacked by a killer rabbit with laser eyes or that there was an incoming air raid. You’d think that I would have been grateful to realize that it was neither a rabbit or a bomber squadron…it was just my alarm clock. However, I was not.
In fact, I spent the next ten minutes fantasizing about the best way to kill said alarm clock. Beating it to death with a sledgehammer would be tremendously satisfying, but so would be methods involving explosives and rounds of buckshot. Poison would be ineffective, and my inner technician shies away from anything to do with water and electronics. (Shock hazards, you understand.) I was definitely leaning towards the sledgehammer at this point. I just felt that the sheer destructive nature of smashing it would make me feel like the hundreds of mornings begun with minor heart failure were all worth it.
And then, the snoozed alarm went off again. I briefly saw red, then sighed and slunk downstairs to pack my husband’s lunch. I hope the stupid clock realizes how lucky it is for not being on my side of the bed. If it was, its reign of terror just might have ended this morning.