She Likes Her Bed

She likes her bed, no two ways about it.
Yesterday was Sunday and I was out of bed by half past seven, I have to be or the dog gets fractious. It's no good expecting her to get up to see to her dog, he can shit on the bed for all she cares. He is my dog when somebody has to get up to let him out. He lets himself back in, I will have to teach him to let himself out.
So, once I am up I stay up, can't get back to sleep anyway.
She rolls downstairs at eleven bells in her onesie and Norwegian boot-slippers, hair all over the place.
"I'm not going anywhere today," says she. "Can't be arsed." Plonks herself next to the fire and turns the telly on.
"What about breakfast?" I ask.
"Make me a cuppa and I'll do it in a bit."
All I got was a bacon sandwich. Then she shoved a chicken in the oven and went back to bed!
She crawled back out about two, made the dinner and went back upstairs to 'tidy up'
About four I went up to see what she was tidying up.
All she was tidying up was her sleep quota, she was in bed.
"Are you actually getting up today?" I asked.
"Sod off," says her. "I'm comfy."
Oh yes, she likes her bed.