"What time do you have to get up tomorrow morning?" I asked Billy last night, turning over to turn on our alarm.
He thought for a minute, doing the complex math in his head that required figuring out what time he'd have to be in, subtracting an hour for the drive, and subtracting another half hour for shower and getting ready, then factoring in the variable of the 17 minutes ahead we've slyly set the clock. "Uuuuh. I think...I have to get up...with you."
"Well, are you going to shower with me, or am I going to shower and then wake you up?" Because, obviously, this drastically impacts the time I have to get up. I waited for his answer.
Again, he pondered. "How about..." he rolled over and wrapped his arms around me, "we wake up and have our coffee, chill out and chit chat for about five minutes and then get in the shower? You know, just wake up to coffee before we have to get started."
I grinned. "You mean, how about I wake up, go downstairs, get your coffee, then bring it to you, and you wake up to coffee?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
Every morning, I bring Billy his coffee. And, because most days he doesn't even have to get in the shower until it's almost time for me to leave, he sits up in bed and sips his hot coffee while I apply my makeup and we talk about the day ahead, the night behind us, or plans for the weekend. I sit up straight, "Indian style," as my gym teachers in elementary school called it, and curl my eyelashes while he's sort of half-laying down, his body curled around my bent legs with only his head propped up on a pillow. And in his still-half-asleep state, he kisses my bare arms, or watches me coat my lashes with mascara. It's the best part of my day. And until I spent a night in my own house, getting ready on my own, I hadn't even noticed what a wonderful way it is to start my day. It puts me in such a great mood, just having his company before we're off to face our respective days.
So, this morning, we did what he suggested. Before we got up and started the process of getting ready, we had a few minutes to just sit and engage in idle chatter. We turned on the news. We exchanged a few early morning, closed-mouth kisses. We talked about what we'd need to get done during the day. And then, as soon as the clock struck seven, we were off and running to get ready.
Of course, I was late. My morning routine is just that: Routine. Planned down to the second. Get up, go shower, go downstairs, make the coffee, bring the coffee upstairs, wake up Billy, apply my makeup, get dressed, go outside and start my car, come back in, do my hair, grab my phone and a pack of cigarettes, throw them in my purse and leave. The five minute delay in this morning's routine threw me off. Luckily, it's actually getting warm right now, so I was able to skip the starting of the car, but I was late nonetheless.
But if I'm going to be late because I spent an extra five minutes with my fantastic boyfriend, I don't mind so much.