Now as the very delphiniums of our curiosity burst into bloom at the prospect of someone we find more than a little personable revealing to us what they keep within the deeper recesses of their underwear, we adopt the stance of a semi-beguiled stock control assistant in readiness for the delights that will soon be snuggling up against our eager palms.
Then – of course – the bloody alarm goes off and you have to struggle up through entangled dreams and duvets to turn the sodding thing off, whilst staring in incomprehension at the clock face. After all, it can’t possibly be that time already, can it?
What happened to the night?
What was that vague memory of a dream that is already fading away as the realisation that you must – indeed – get out of this nice warm, cosy, snugly… just a few more…?
No hurry….
Shit…!
Look at what that bloody clock has done now, several minutes stolen while you just closed your heavy eyelids for what could have been no more than a few seconds.
Now you do have to get up or you will be late.
But….
Warm….
Cosy….
No!
Up and out before you have time to think about….
Bloody hell, it’s cold and dark... and the bed is….
If you just slipped back for only a moment, because the outline of your body is still there in the memory of the sheet, you could go back, find your way back to that dream where you know that one you dream of will be waiting just for you….
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