Toast!

So, this morning I was yanked from dreadful nightmares by my beautiful husband's silly grin, inches from my face, pleading for me to wake and brew him coffee and butter him toast.

First lets start with just how awful it is to startle me awake. Let's set aside for a moment the nightmares. I am an incredibly physically reactive individual. I don't know why, but I respond to stimuli with a variety of punches, kicks, slaps, knee jerks, jumps, ducks, elbow smashes, twirly spins and upper cuts, depending on circumstance.

For instance, once in the not too distant past, I was (begrudgingly) bent over the washing machine doing my husband's laundry. The water was running, filling in the tub and making quite a bit of noise as it cascaded into the aluminum drum already filled with his filthy work clothes. Honestly, I could hear nothing but the water. When I felt a - presence. I turned at the uneasy feeling and being taken by surprise and completely jolted by a body standing in front of me when I didn't expect it, my fists struck. I couldn't help it, I didn't plan it, I just did it. My reaction was severe, I admit. I punched my dear husband in the chest, leaving quite the black and blue where my knuckles landed on his sternum. He was just saying hello as he had just gotten home. I wasn't trying to hurt him, but he wore the bruise for about two weeks following. I guess its good to have such highly tuned self-defense reflexes. If only my groom would remember my tendency to punch first and ask questions second.

So, this morning was no exception. My darling sweet husband leaned in close to my face to wake me, I was startled and I clobbered him - and the nightmares of zombies, monsters and psycho-ax murders on the chase only helped to improve my accuracy.

After I helped my husband up off the floor, then hollered at him for scaring me, then thanked him for interrupting a nightmare, I agreed to brew his coffee and butter his toast for breakfast to help ease the guilt  of planting a solid knuckled punch right to his gut.

Guilt aside, it is rather annoying to be woken up specifically to make breakfast for a grown man who is capable of rebuilding a transmission. Seriously, he can make his own toast. But today, his grin, too close to my nose, translated into a guilt-ridden wife and a tower of buttered cinnamon toast and large travel mug of Kona coffee, all made just the way he likes it.

Let's just hope for his sake, he doesn't make a habit out of these methods.....