I’m a PMP… not your Myers-Briggs

Last Saturday night, we had this conversation:

Me: What time do we have to leave in the morning?

Himself: 8:45.

Me: Okay. Wake me up at 7:00. That way I can go back to sleep for half an hour and be up at 7:30 to hot roll my hair before we leave.

Thoughtful silence (no, really), followed by Himself laughing.

Himself: You are weird, woman.

I’m not weird. Well, not much. I’m a PMP — pitiful morning person. Even in grade school, I would get up early enough to put on all my clothes, eat and gather my junk, so that I could catch 30 mins on the couch-sofa-davenport-whatever before leaving for school.

I will always ask to be awakened 30 mins earlier, so that I can dive back under the covers and cheat Father A.M. That’s just the kind of gal PMP I am.

I like the night. I like the moon, the stars, the quiet…. the lack of birdsong which, by the way, has been heralding the morn at 4:30 these days. Not a PMP’s best friend. I like birdsong after caffeine, after carbs, after flip-flops and yoga pants, after noon.

It’s not that I don’t like the sun. I LOVE the sun… just not in the morning.

See those feet? Those feet way up at the top of this post? Even those feet tell it like it is. The toes pointing up? Yeah. He’s definitely a morning person. The downward doggy toes? Yep. She’s flipping-off Father A.M. big time.

What about you? Are you from the light or the dark side? We won’t judge.