h2>Dating : The Day I Alarmed Your Grandmother
It was an accident waiting to happen
It wasn’t my fault. That constant tick-tock ruined my rest, shredding my mind to tatters. So, I rose from my makeshift bed — your mother’s couch — and reached for the clunky timepiece. It slid, when touched by my fingertips, into my hands. And, ever so gently, it nestled, after some persuasion, under a buttermilk cushion with gold brocade.
I pulled sweet peace over my body like a blanket, and my breath hummed to the distant engine’s roar of the road and pitter-patter of cat’s paws along the garden fence.
Your grandmother rose with the sun at dawn, and, keeping to her usual schedule came to sit. There she watched me wake — from where I lay, I saw up her nose. It had two wide tunnels through which a dim light penetrated.
In discomfort after the stare, I grimaced — inwardly, so not to be rude. The universe, though, had ideas. She set in motion a shrill ring, piercing from beneath your mother’s mother who added her jarring voice to the hubbub.
“Whatever’s wrong?” You asked.
“Someone set the alarm on this clock,” quaked the old woman, almost dead with shock as she pulled it from under her to show and tell.
“Who put it there?” you probed, and I, shamefaced, mentioned I might have.
“Must’ve nudged the switch” you muttered as you handed granny a cup of tea.