True Story

I woke up before my alarm clock today. Which most of you will realize, knowing what you know of me, is a feat in and of itself. Generally my alarm clock is set to a time at which no rational human being would want to arise, outside of the practiced awakenings over a period of decades, in which time one has the incredible ability to convince oneself that it is a pleasure to arise at that time. However, I have no such misconceptions about myself or the time I would rather wake, which is to say, sometime between 11 am and 2 pm. But, upon finding myself awake at this earlier time, I concluded that it would suffice to simply be in the bed, until such time as I had to arise. In this I had erred. You see, I had little foreknowledge of the delicacies of my alarm clock's disposition, and I, having awakened before it could do its singular duty, made the poor thing feel very inadequate. So it happens that at 9 am, it actually began, angrily, to chastise me. I glanced up, blearily, at this dingy-white, tissue box-shaped thing, standing there on its hind legs as it continued to loudly admonish me. Of course, I wasn't aware exactly of what it was saying, as it hails from Japan, and I, not speaking Japanese and having failed to teach it any English (in the ten or so years we've been together), came to a barrier of sorts. The tone, however was very clear. And I, not being an early rising character, felt that I should rebuke it for its insolence. Rolling myself to the foot of the bed, and reaching toward my dresser, I struck the thing on its very broad head. It is at this point that it felt the necessity to run away from me, hiding behind piles of clean clothes stacked somewhat haphazardly next to it, and I resumed my repose. Content as I was, I knew it would not be long before it would begin its bleating anew, in whatever condition it lay, and sure enough, about 9 minutes later, I heard its muffled cries from somewhere beyond my field of vision. Now, slightly perturbed that it would continue in such a manner, I felt it necessary to repeat the process, leaving it stunned yet again. (And why not? Generally I've treated it well, but it's never been so forward!) Another 9 minutes passed, and it clamored again, this time seemingly resigned to its task. And I, feeling sorry for the way in which I had cowed the machine, for it was quieter and its tone was no longer one of admonishment, I, sighing, switched its slide to the "off" position and scrabbled out of bed.