For crying out loud, can’t a girl get a quiet Sunday morning to herself? For the love, I just want to enjoy a cup of coffee and my newly discovered Connections game in peace. But noooooo, my husband Doo and youngest child are screwing it up.
Longtime readers (and aforementioned family members) know that I’m an introvert. I’m easily overwhelmed by too much stimulation, particularly when I wake up and when I go to bed. That’s why I rarely turn on bright lights or the TV. I don’t generally play background music, and I sure as shoot don’t speak to anyone, not even the dog, for at least 30 minutes (ideally, I’d live alone with nothing but low-wattage bulbs and a French press for company).
It’s also why I relish getting up before anyone else. But this past weekend, both of my current housemates were downstairs within minutes. Doo sat right next to me on the couch, crunching away on his granola bar and slurping his drink, ranting about the Colts’ season and his last visit to Lowe’s. Then my daughter joined in, immediately asking questions about chakras, oatmeal, plane crashes, and wah-wa-wa-wah-wa-wa … OM Godzilla. Shut your pieholes!
Of course, neither noticed I was avoiding all eye contact and multisyllabic responses. They’re both extraverts, completely oblivious to my annoyance and personal discomfort. So, I left. I took my coffee and my online New York Times suite of anti-dementia games and headed for another room. I only have one Sunday morning a week, for the love of Pete! I can’t afford to have rude people disrupt my few precious moments of quiet solitude.