Late Night Rambles

 "Chirp."

"What time is it?," Mr. Ginley murmured. 

"20 to 4," I replied.

He hit the light on the clock and took a gander.

"3:40," he gurgled.

"Chirp."

"What was that?," he inquired.

This conversation took place in the wee hours this morning, as I was emptying his pee bottles and covering him back up.

"Chirp."

"It's the smoke alarm," I diagnosed. "I changed out the batteries in one of them when it went kaput last year, but I think it was the upstairs one. This must be the one downstairs."

In the beforetimes, Mr. replaced the batteries on Halloween, but last year, the VERY BAD DAY occurred before the trick or treaters came around.

"Chirp."

"I'll just get the step stool and remove the battery," I said. 

"You should use the ladder, that ceiling is pretty high," Mr. Ginley replied.

But I didn't have it in me to shlep the big ladder up from the basement, so I stood on tiptoes on the step stool and tossed the battery out.

"I'll bring up the ladder later today when I'm fully awake and put in the new battery," I told him.

"Chirp."

Sigh.

I went over to the steps leading upstairs and cocked an ear.

"Chirp." 

Up I went, dragging the step stool with me. Turns out, the culprit was the CO2 detector. I replaced the battery, reversed my steps, and carried the step stool back to its home in the kitchen.

Blessed silence.

Just another night of high jinx at the Casa de Ginley.

This is why I live vicariously through all of you on Facebook. 

P.S. Progress report on Mr. Ginley: He walked 25 feet this week. Watch out, Stroky McStrokerson is on the move!

P.P.S. This week, we celebrated our anniversary: 38 years of marital blisters bliss.