humor

My Inner Comedienne and the Wake Up Call

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My Inner Comedienne woke me early this morning.

It was 4 a.m. to be exact, when I received a sharp elbow jab to the bladder. (She’s like that sometimes.) I grunted and bit back the muffled beginnings of a curse, but rolled out of bed and together we stumbled down my steep and narrow (not to mention dark!) staircase, which was something of a challenge for the clown in the big red shoes. After nearly treading on the sleeping cat on step #3, Inner Comedienne made a graceful leap to step #4 and the cat was spared. I, on the other hand, was left bumbling behind, bladder full, eyes half closed, and was not nearly as successful.

hissing cat

Whatever this cat is saying right now? That’s what my cat said this morning. Photo: natgeocreative.com

My cat may never forgive me. 

Inner Comedienne turned and shushed me. “Why are you so clumsy?” she hissed.

“YOU try jumping over a cat with a full bladder!” I hissed back, praying we did not wake Hubby in our efforts to navigate the stairs.

“I already did,” she admitted smugly. It is just like her to brag about her bladder prowess as I am reaching my middle years and am somewhat less certain of my mastery over such things, storage capacity being roughly walnut-sized on a good day.

We made our way through the moonlit lounge and down the hallway to the loo, where Inner Comedienne perched on the side of the bathtub and kept me company, as she sometimes does, crossing her legs and swinging her giant foot while she contemplated me in the moonlight. “It’s this stupid diet you’re on,” she said. “You’re drinking too much water.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever,” I replied, this being the best I could do at 4 a.m. by way of a comeback.

“I don’t know why you bother,” she said, eyeing my figure critically through my nightgown. “You look fine to me.”

“My clothes are all too tight. I look ridiculous.”

“You don’t need to lose weight,” she said. “Just go up a size and pull your fat clothes out of the back of the closet like the rest of us!”

squirty pin

One can never be too prepared. Photo: ebay.com

Says the clown in the baggy suit.

“I’d rather get up at 4 to wee, if it’s all the same to you,” I said as we washed our hands in the sink. “Inner Whitney and I have to sing for 150 people in a couple of weeks, and I’d rather not do it in a larger size.” Exactly why I had to justify myself to my Inner Comedienne, I shall never know.

She sniffed, popping off her squirty lapel pin and refilling it. (Of course, one never knows when one might need a squirt someone in the eye.) “Nobody cares what either of you look like,” she snapped peevishly. She is always a little jealous of Inner Whitney.

whitney

My Inner Whitney looks exactly like this. Except she’s a 48-year-old white chick. But you can hardly tell us apart, really. Photo: nbcnewyork.com

“Now, now,” I soothed, making my way to the kitchen for another drink of water. “Don’t be like that.”

“They don’t need to hear singing. They need a standup routine!”

I glanced over my shoulder to find that Inner Comedienne had pulled some wiffle balls out of her pocket and had begun quietly juggling in the darkened kitchen. Rolling my eyes, I downed my water and gagged slightly, as I always do when drinking water. This darned diet…

“They do NOT,” I said, “need a standup routine.”

“Sure they do,” replied Inner Comedienne, mounting her unicycle without dropping a single wiffle ball. She was nothing if not superbly dextrous. “People love to laugh,” she said. “That’s why we started our blog, remember?”

I remembered.

“And when, may I ask, is the last time you let me say anything?” She was riding a tidy figure-eight across the lino now, having switched out 2 of her wiffle balls for the coffeepot and my laptop. “I have been quiet since May, and here you are, trotting out Inner Whitney while I am left languishing in the dark.”

coffeepot

Aaaah. Nothing like a cuppa Joe at 4 in the morning. Photo: thecompletebook.wordpress.com

“Hey! BE CAREFUL WITH THAT!” I shouted, snatching my laptop out of rotation. I would hardly call unicycling across the kitchen whilst juggling “languishing.” But what do I know?

Inner Comedienne cycled to the light switch and flipped it on. Dismounting, she handed me the coffeepot, a knowing look lurking behind her garish clown makeup. “You’re probably going to need this,” she said with a smart wink. “I have the BEST idea for another post…”

It is 4:10 a.m. And here we are…

Mother Hen

feature photo: Shutterstock

© motherhendiaries 2014 all rights reserved

20 replies »

  1. This was awesome! It needs to make it into a major magazine, where everyone will shout, “You are amazing, MH!” Your inner comedienne is absolutely hysterical, I love the additions like the water spitting flower and the little juggling balls, along with you not being adept, since you have a full bladder but that blasted comedienne is able to navigate the steps… All so very good!! (I am drinking plenty of water, not to lose weight but I read older brains can get dehydrated, and I don’t want to lose any more ‘marbles’ then I already have, MH! Smiles!

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    • Thank you so very much, Robin! I am glad you enjoyed this. My IC isn’t as well received as my photography posts, but she’s such a fun character, I am loath to abandon her. 🙂 I appreciate that you”get” my randomness. You are such a kind and generous blog friend. Thank you again… and hydration is never a bad idea! Thou are adorable, Robin!

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      • Thou are unique and one of a kind! That is my idea of ‘high praise!’ Take it easy and hope you get a chance to enjoy a longer night’s sleep with the Inner Comedienne giving you a break, at least until after 7 a.m. Zzzz! (that is you getting some rest!) ha!

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  2. Absolutely charming post, MH! I am so glad my inner rock star is Stevie Nicks though….you know, we can hide our extra ten pounds under those flowing caftans. And really, really big hair helps too!

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    • Gahahaha! Thank you, SITB! 🙂 My IC is a bit of a madwoman. And, oh yes… the big hair… One of the primary reasons I miss the 80s. That and the shoulder pads. How small did our waists look then with metre-wide shoulder pads and with our hair teased, fried, and pushed to the side? (Can you say, awesome?) Ahhh… how Krystle Carrington and Sue Ellen Ewing changed our world.

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