Monday Monday
By bitingmylip
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Monday mornings are crap. You’re beginning another week, you’re tired, maybe hungover, the alarm goes off… it’s not pleasant. Few people enjoy Monday mornings, and as a result, few of us are at our sparkling best. I am not my best at 7.15am any day of the week but I tell the following tale so people will know that there is someone out there who is worse at Mondays than they are… read it and decide which chick lit heroine I am turning into. Answers on a postcard please.
So on Sunday, after a particularly heavy Saturday night, one of my flatmates broke the handle on our bathroom door. As in the whole screw that attaches it to the door snapped off and now there is no way of opening it from the inside, although it can still be opened from the outside. Very annoying.
Well, this Monday I got out of bed, got my towel, walked blearily to the bathroom… and promptly forgot about the dead door knob. So I shut the door. And locked myself in.
AAAHHH. After panicking for about 10 minutes because NONE OF MY FLATMATES were in the house (It is really not on that they have all suddenly got boyfriends at the same time…) and I did not have my phone or any way of opening the door I opened the window and shouted into our large (but empty) communal garden something like “Help!! Someone please!” before the nice man downstairs popped his head out of the window. I think I woke him up – thank god he is a drummer and doesn’t have a proper job, else where would I be?
When I told him my dilemma he came out onto the balcony beneath our bathroom. When I said there was no way of him getting into the house to let me out he just replied, “don’t panic,” and, as I was busy panicking, he went back into his flat before returning with some pliers and a ball of string. Then he attached the pliers to the string and threw the string up to me so I could winch up the pliers. What a genius. And the pliers worked, so I got out. The entire debacle probably only took 20 minutes, but it felt like hours as I envisioned spending the entire day in the bathroom with no reading material or food. Still, at least I would have had water and a toilet.
As if this wasn’t a bad enough start to a Monday morning, when I eventually left the house, the kindly neighbour opened his window to call out to me. I thought he was going to ask if I had recovered from my ordeal but no, his exact words were, “Pull your skirt down a bit, love,” said in a loud stage whisper.
Yes that is correct, my skirt was tucked into my knickers. How em-bloody-barassing. I turned extremely red and mumbled some thanks before confessing that I must be turning into some Bridget Jones-alike.
Which I truly think I am. Please help me.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Monday mornings are crap. You’re beginning another week, you’re tired, maybe hungover, the alarm goes off… it’s not pleasant. Few people enjoy Monday mornings, and as a result, few of us are at our sparkling best. I am not my best at 7.15am any day of the week but I tell the following tale so people will know that there is someone out there who is worse at Mondays than they are… read it and decide which chick lit heroine I am turning into. Answers on a postcard please.
So on Sunday, after a particularly heavy Saturday night, one of my flatmates broke the handle on our bathroom door. As in the whole screw that attaches it to the door snapped off and now there is no way of opening it from the inside, although it can still be opened from the outside. Very annoying.
Well, this Monday I got out of bed, got my towel, walked blearily to the bathroom… and promptly forgot about the dead door knob. So I shut the door. And locked myself in.
AAAHHH. After panicking for about 10 minutes because NONE OF MY FLATMATES were in the house (It is really not on that they have all suddenly got boyfriends at the same time…) and I did not have my phone or any way of opening the door I opened the window and shouted into our large (but empty) communal garden something like “Help!! Someone please!” before the nice man downstairs popped his head out of the window. I think I woke him up – thank god he is a drummer and doesn’t have a proper job, else where would I be?
When I told him my dilemma he came out onto the balcony beneath our bathroom. When I said there was no way of him getting into the house to let me out he just replied, “don’t panic,” and, as I was busy panicking, he went back into his flat before returning with some pliers and a ball of string. Then he attached the pliers to the string and threw the string up to me so I could winch up the pliers. What a genius. And the pliers worked, so I got out. The entire debacle probably only took 20 minutes, but it felt like hours as I envisioned spending the entire day in the bathroom with no reading material or food. Still, at least I would have had water and a toilet.
As if this wasn’t a bad enough start to a Monday morning, when I eventually left the house, the kindly neighbour opened his window to call out to me. I thought he was going to ask if I had recovered from my ordeal but no, his exact words were, “Pull your skirt down a bit, love,” said in a loud stage whisper.
Yes that is correct, my skirt was tucked into my knickers. How em-bloody-barassing. I turned extremely red and mumbled some thanks before confessing that I must be turning into some Bridget Jones-alike.
Which I truly think I am. Please help me.
posted by bitingmylip at 8:57 AM
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