Saturday Morning Belongs to Z

Another weekend in the books as we race down the home stretch of 2011. 

Everyone loves a weekend, no mattter what time of year it occurs.

Most weekends Z and I try to figure out something fun to do.

That is, once we get through Saturday morning....

Becasue Saturday mornings belong to Z….

So watch it.

It’s the one day of the week that Z can sit in the kitchen…by herself…which seems to be key, and have the morning to do whatever it is she wants to do…which I couldn’t tell you what that is, since I’m not allowed to check.

See, unlike myself, who has oodles of alone time to do whatever it is I want to do, most times when Z is home…so am I.  Not that I would ever stand in the way of her doing whatever it is she wants to do, even if I knew what that was…which I don’t.

For all I know she could be building herself a time machine, which would be cool, but I don’t know if she’s looking to go forward in time or back.

I suppose she could go forward in time to see who’s the next chef to be eliminated on this weeks “Chopped”, one of Z’s Food Network favorites, which I often hear in muffled tones behind the kitchen walls.  

Or she could be going back in time to correct a previous bad outcome—

I have no idea what that could be, but when I mentioned that possibility to Z she suddenly stopped making eye contact, which I thought was odd…at least for a Tuesday.

Most Saturdays, Z will be up and at 'em long before I even open my eyes, which I normally don’t do until I’ve been up and em’ for a few hours.  Needless to say this makes going out for bagels somewhat of an adventure.

On some rare Saturday mornings, however, I will actually get up before Z, quietly begin to gather up my things, so as not to disturb her, but even before I pick up my first sock, Z has somehow slipped by me and is slamming the bathroom door behind her.

By the time I stand up and walk to the bathroom door to ask how she was able to do that without my seeing her, she has somehow done it again and is already downstairs in the kitchen doing whatever it is she wants to do.

I think there may be some hidden passages involved that I’m not aware of. Or maybe she really has built a machine that lets her slip back and forth in time and space.


Never underestimate the powers of Z....

When I finally get downstairs, myself, the Saturday papers have already been collected from the front walk. Once they’ve been perused and sorted I will find them on the table that I am allowed to sit at in the sun room, which is where we spend the majority of our time in the house…except for, you know…Saturday morning. Most times I will often find a cup of coffee sitting on the table as well…yet, again, no sign of Z.

Sometimes I get there a bit early before the papers and coffee are ready, and I’ll try and see if I can get through the highly sophisticated laser controlled security system that is designed to prevent intruders (me) from breaking through the perimeter.  I’ve gotten pretty good at it. Through a series of trial and error encounters, I know where most of the trip sensors are, but not all. 

To be honest I think Z actually reconfigures the system every couple of weeks.

So I’m usually caught in the act and will set off the alarm, which sounds remarkably like Z shouting,“WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE!!!???, although in a most endearing manner”

To which I will normally reply in the most soothing yet tentative of voices—much as one would use when turning the corner and suddenly encountering a foaming mouthed Pit Bull who has just escaped from the back of the Animal Control truck—that I was hoping to get a cup of coffee and perhaps a piece of the newspaper…if she was finished with it, of course.

To which Z will then tell me, again in the most endearing way, which sounds a bit like little Linda Blair in "The Exorcist", to…go back where I belong….

And who am I to argue…so I do, only to find one steaming cup of Chock full of Nuts, that heavenly coffee, and the paper, already sitting right there, on the table.

And there I will stay, keeping to myself, ignoring the odd lights and sounds coming from the kitchen.  I guess “Chopped” is big into special effects.

Eventually, Z will head off to Zumba, to do whatever it is she wants to do there…and by the time she comes back, I am usually allowed to speak to her…sometimes even allowed in the kitchen.

I’m not really sure about all that goes on in that Zumba class…and I don’t think I want to know…but I’m happy that it’s there. Apparently shaking one’s booty is a powerfully positive prescription for enhancing one’s demeanor.

I know it has always been to mine.

That and the time machine….



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