Cheryl woke up and propped her upper half up on her elbows, then reached for her glasses on the nightstand and put them on to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing.
She was. Bill was standing at the foot of the bed, wearing an electric blue full-body spandex suit.
Once he saw he had her attention, he addressed her.
“Greetings. It is time for you to rise from your sleep pod, don your all-purpose garment, consume your breakfast-time nutrition and caffeine capsule, and join me and our minor-aged male and female offspring units in the hovercraft for a trip to the local Christianity-based religious meeting structure.”
“I know you’re confused. Things have changed since you were last part of the waking world. It’s the FUTURE now.”
Then she remembered. She took off her glasses, put them back on the nightstand, and threw herself back down on the bed with a soft thud.
In a weary, partially-muffled-by-the-pillow monotone, she said, “OK, Bill. We get it: You hate the “spring forward” losing an hour thing. Give me ten minutes and I’ll get up—that should be enough time for you to change out of…whatever it is you got going on there.”
She shut her eyes and heard Bill shuffle over to his dresser, pulling some drawers open, looking for “real” clothes to wear.
She had to hand it to him: He was COMMITTED to airing his grievances.
And if he ever decided to take up speed-skating, he had a head start on his wardrobe.