I will straight-up dump a guy who wakes up before 8am on a weekend, gets out of bed, tosses on a ratty sweatshirt then goes downstairs to putter around until I wake up. Sorry to try and catch some Zs on your dime, buddy. I didn't realize that by agreeing to a slumber party I'd have to scoot out of your house at the ass crack of dawn.
The worst is when he asks me the night before, "What time do you usually wake up? You're not gonna sleep in 'til 2pm, are you? 'Cause I usually wake up at around 7am." No, I'm not gonna sleep until 2pm; I'm not a depressed teenager. Sheesh. As R. Kelly sang, "it's the freakin' weekend, baby, I'm about to have me some fun." He didn't sing, "It's the freakin' weekend baby, I'm about to BOTHER THIS SLEEPING BEAUTY AND GUILT HER INTO WAKING UP BEFORE MOST PLACES ARE EVEN OPEN FOR BRUNCH."
What, are we on Wife Swap? Do I have to wake up to tend to farm animals? We are in a city in an apartment. Can't we just sleep in and get our snuggle on? Is laying around and giggling that unappealing to you? What's the rush?
Do you have to wake up because it's time to make the donuts? Do you have to deliver papers on your paper route? Do you have the early shift at Panera? Why are you up so early on a weekend? You're a cock-a-doodle-DON'T!