Our bed is small and has an ornamented frame. I lay in bed an extra two hours, my feet touching the bottom frame and my head propped against the back. I close my eyes and pretend I am both short and I am the Queen of France. I hear the cows outside mooing and a bell ringing and I decree the farmer shall be rewarded for such a fine bounty. I will give him four virgins and a flock of geese. Oh when oh when will those blasted servants come with my morning coffee? My eyes are watering and I am overcome by another sneezing fit. I wonder if the Queen of France was allergic to wool blankets too? I suddenly realize I cannot name one single Queen of France except for myself. NOTE TO SELF: Must wikipedia “Queen Of France” asap.
FB comes in and asks when I plan on getting up as it’s 2PM.