Could I Please Have My Coffee First

I always wake up angry. Every time. Every single solitary time. I'm not joking. And I jump out of bed enraged. Sophie Dog wakes up angry too. She growls at me, as I pull her covers off. I wouldn't have to do that if she would give me a little space, but she doesn't. Butt to butt we sleep. I go to the bathroom and she taps down the hallway toward the doggie door. uh-oh. The light is on. This means we've got company. It's 3:30, the witching hour, why is the warlock up? I tiptoe to the kitchen, hoping to make my coffee and sneak back to my word processor before he catches me. After fifty years together, he still wants snuggles. In the morning? I don't even want to see his face or talk to him. I get back to my desk without a hitch. Then I hear his office door open. Talk. Talk. Talk. Talk. Did he forget I'm not a morning person? I drink two sips of coffee, but it's not enough. My voice yells, "I'm counting!" I'm always counting. Syllables. Wonderful. Three. Perpendicular. Five. Phonetically. Four. Silence. Warlock's footsteps go away. I'm such a witch in the morning. I even despise myself.