Last night, around 11 pm, Sparky and I were so excited about sleeping in. We get up at 5 am every day and were very excited about a possible 8 am start to our Sunday. I made sure the alarm wasn’t set and snuggled up.
Around 2 am, Ollie plopped on my head, covering both my nose and mouth and fell asleep because really there is nowhere more comfortable in the house than my face. I moved my head to an uncomfortable angle in order not to wake the cat and fell back to sleep. At 4 am Ollie did it again, accompanied by his signature 150 decibel purr/wheeze/snore. At 5 am, he woke for good and proceeded to terrorize me with hopes I’d get up and open the wet food. It’s a treat, Ollie. A gift from me to you, not a required morning nutrient. I finally got up at 6.
Sparky is still asleep despite my best cat-like efforts. I jumped on the bed. I jumped on him. I kissed him all over his face. I used my hair as a weapon against his nose. I put my cold toes in strategic places. I wiggled certain parts in certain places. Nothing. Apparently when I’m up and hyper at 7 am, Sparky does not feel the need to wake and entertain me. The man can sleep through anything.
I finally gave up and told him I’d be back in a hour. I’m not sure he heard me so I sent the cats in to fight to make sure my point was made.
Yesterday we woke early and drove to Neuschwanstein. It was a lovely day. There are times I forget how well Sparky and I get along. Its usually when he loads the dishwasher wrong or he starts to polish the fridge in the middle of a conversation about mung beans because how could he not give me his full attention when I speak of mung beans.
But days like yesterday I am reminded.
We travel well together. Even when things go bad, we both find the good part. Especially since we have banned relationship talks on drives over one hour. I mean really, getting tear-gassed on your Parisian honeymoon could have been bad, but both of us found it hilarious once we were out of danger and kind of exciting when we were IN danger. He even makes jokes about how I lead us into a riot because nothing stops me from getting to where I want to go. Not even police barricades or riot gear. Rather than getting pissed that my bad sense of direction and over-developed sense of entitlement lead us directly between the rock throwing french socialists and the obviously fascist well-dressed police, he finds the humor. (Aren’t facists always well dressed?)
Yesterday, it rained. A lot. Sparky wanted yesterday to be blue, gorgeous cabrio weather, but it wasn’t. However, it was dramatic and foreboding which was appropriate when talking about Ludwig II.
And we both find the humor in farts. Walking behind this really old man, the old man ripped one. I don’t mean a little “Oops!” toot. I mean a full on, stepped-on-a-duck-20-second-I’m-eighty-what-do you-expect fart. Giggling, we moved quickly around the greenhouse gas.
A few minutes later, on our horse and carriage ride, the horse stepped on a few ducks. It was truly amazing. I have never before heard a horse fart. My life is now complete. I can die a well-informed woman.
I won’t go into the lady in the bathroom, who, with some sort intestinal problem, had no concept of the “Courtesy Flush”. If not for my over-active bladder, I would have been out of there in a New York minute. It was like a Bloodhound Gang song. However, betrayed by said bladder, I was there for the entire performance. Then I told Sparky all about it and we giggled some more.
It was raining so hard after our tour of the castle (or rather our tour of many smells), I had to buy an umbrella because you know, I haven’t lived in Germany for five years and was not prepared for sudden downpours as it happens so infrequently. It’s not like I don’t have four in the car. My husband, raised by an emotionally scarred war-child, visibly winced when I said I needed to buy an umbrella to walk down the mountain. I know he wanted me to just tough it out because it was five euros for 30 minute walk and don’t you know that his mother lived on 3 cents for two months in the 40’s? Please understand, he’s not cheap. This took me years to figure out. He just hates to spend money on Wasted Items. This type of spending drives him to obsessively polish things mad. I bought the umbrella and then decided I needed a diet coke, a five euro diet coke. For a second, I thought I was back in Paris. I didn’t purchase the diet coke because I shot my wad on the umbrella. I had to tilt my head and open my mouth to wet my whistle, the only part of me that was dry. Sparky bought me a latte in a restaurant even though I bought the umbrella and we waited out the rain in almost warmth which shows how much he loves me.
So, I know I’m going against my personal code, but I’m going to be happy for another day. That makes four in a row if you’re counting.