Beep, beep, beep, beep…
“Oh, will you shut it up?” He grunts into the pillow where his face is buried. She fumbles in the near dark of the room, groping for her phone and with the familiarity of someone who’s done the same thing too many times before, turns off the alarm. All is quiet again. All is calm, just like how mornings are supposed to be.
(Fifteen minutes later)
“Oh god, seriously?! What is it with you and your million alarms? Can’t a hard-working man get some sleep around here?”
“Hey, calm down, okay? I just turn on the alarms so I can go out walking.”
“You? Go out walking? Ha!” His eyes are laughing at her. “Sweetheart, you’re too lazy to go out walking or anything this early in the morning. So, for heaven’s sake, quit ruining my mornings with your gazillion alarms and lemme get some sleep!”
He mutters Gawd and turns to his side, snuggling deeper into the warmth of the blanket.
He’s snoring already but she’s hurting.
How dare he insult me so? That’s it! I’m gonna show him who can workout.
Fifteen minutes later, she has shimmied into her tightest yoga pants and is lacing up her running shoes when she hears the deep rumble of thunder. A peek through the blinds confirms that it is going to rain.
“Damn! And just when I had finally managed to get off the bed too. But no! I am going out no matter what. It’s just rain anyway…”
(Fifteen minutes later)
“What the… Why did it have to rain this hard just when I decided to workout?” She’s shivering in her clothes. It’s not just raining out there, it’s pouring.
“What, God doesn’t want you to workout?” He teases her.
“I swear, he doesn’t…”
“Oh, quit making excuses. Come back here and put your porky self back into bed. You aren’t made for working out. You just don’t have enough willpower.” He gloats at her from under the safety and warmth of the blanket.
She stomps into the bedroom, “I do too. At least I went out. It’s just my bad luck that it rained. What matters is that I made the effort. Which. You. Never. Do!” She playfully jiggles his ample belly fat to prove her point.
This time someone else is hurting.
How dare she? I’m gonna show her.
That evening the basement sees a lot of activity. The old treadmill gets a lot of attention. A playlist has been prepared for an intensive workout session. Dusty running shoes have been cleaned and disinfected and someone is trying to fit himself into workout gear that has stopped fitting him since 2010.
She watches him go through the ritual with a smidgen of interest. He comes into the kitchen while she’s making tea for herself, all charged up for a rigorous hour of sweat, steam and rock music.
“Tea?” She offers suggestively.
“No thanks. Cant’ you see I’m gonna work out?” He turns his nose up at her and starts to rummage in the kitchen, turning pots and pans upside down, displacing things in her neatly arranged cabinets.
When she can’t take all that clanging anymore, she says, “Top left cabinet.”
He looks back at her questioningly.
She explains with a surety of one who’s seen it happen too many times, “Your water bottle and your Gatorade, though I don’t think the Gatorade is a good idea; it may have expired.” She’s straining the tea now.
He finds what he is looking for and after having poured his Gatorade (expired for the past eighteen days) into his water bottle, uses his exit line, “Woman, this is how you make an effort!” And with a wink, he’s off to the basement.
One flick of a switch fries up some fuse and the treadmill groans to a stop.
“What the…” He swears loud enough for her to know she’s been avenged.
“What? God doesn’t want you to workout?” She’s loud enough too.
It’s still raining outside and he’s still sulking in the basement while she sips her tea with smiling lips and devilish eyes from a cup that says,
Copyright ©2018 Pradita Kapahi.
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