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Something is pulling at his hair.
He moans and rolls over, batting feebly at it, but it persists and now it's yammering at him in a high-pitched voice. Something about Santa. Dimly he's aware of a warm body next to him, of the fact that it's crushingly early and he's still tired, but now there are two sets of hands--he recognizes them as hands--tugging at the thick covers.
And suddenly he knows what morning it is, why this is happening, and how many more years of it he has to look forward to.
"Oh, Christ," he mutters, pressing his face between Neil's shoulderblades as his daughters tug at him. "It's today."
He moans and rolls over, batting feebly at it, but it persists and now it's yammering at him in a high-pitched voice. Something about Santa. Dimly he's aware of a warm body next to him, of the fact that it's crushingly early and he's still tired, but now there are two sets of hands--he recognizes them as hands--tugging at the thick covers.
And suddenly he knows what morning it is, why this is happening, and how many more years of it he has to look forward to.
"Oh, Christ," he mutters, pressing his face between Neil's shoulderblades as his daughters tug at him. "It's today."