Blessed by the Potato

So this morning, before my alarm goes off, Wayfare pops in my room, sits on my bed and asks “How long have we been together???” in a fairly urgent, 3-question-mark-important kind of way.

“Ugh. 2001, do the math.” I mumble, being not a morning person (nor for that matter, a person who generally takes kindly to any kind of questioning within 5 minutes of waking up no matter what time of day or night that may be — in fact, I’m exactly the kind of person who will die in a fire caused by a herd of riioting elephants without ever fully waking up).

As I started to wake up a little more I put together the question and the tone of voice and started to get worried about exactly what kind of nearly asleep pop quiz this might be, and what consequences failing might hold. I quickly (I think — my sense of time isn’t all that sharp when the whole world seems kind of fuzzy and unreal) decided that I had best turn this around and start quizzing her before some really hard questions started coming my way.

So I blurt out the first question I think of. “What’s the square root of three!”

“I don’t know!” she exclaims.

“Damn, neither do I. Ok, square root of 9!” My brain is clearly working slower than my mouth at this point, as I realize I had just given the answer away in the previous question.

Then I was saved by the cat, who is thrilled when I wake up because it means its time for her nearly-favourite game Jump On Potato’s Full Bladder While He’s Too Sleepy To Move (her very favourite game is Pretend To Want Snuggles On The Human’s Lap Until He Pays Attention To Me Then Run Away, though a close third is Hey I Can Type Too).