My alarm clock is dead.
Well, that’s not entirely true. The digital display and radio still function adequately. The buzzer, however? That part of the alarm clock that jars me from sweet sleep and shoves my sleeping self into the reality of a new day far too early in the morning? That part is dead.
I’ve had this alarm clock for over ten years, and I’m already dreading the thought of shopping for a new one. I happen to be one of those people who is abnormally attached to her alarm clocks. I’m confident that I’m not the only one. After all, isn’t one’s relationship with on’es alarm clock a fairly intimate one?
This alarm clock has travelled round the world with me. I didn’t take my husband to Switzerland but my alarm clock came along. It has stood steadfastly on many bedside tables for many moons, and I am not looking forward to finding its replacement.
You see, an alarm clock needs to be able to handle you at your worst. It needs to be able to shoulder the muttering and grumbling that protest the morning alarm. It must survive being beaten and shoved and smacked. The snooze button, in particular, must be resilient and unflappable. It needs to not comment on how bad your hair looks when you lift your head off the pillow.
I bought this alarm clock at London Drugs. At the time, they had a fantastic alarm clock selection. Some of them were even plugged in so that you could check the volume of the buzzer, and actually test out the buttons. Plus, this one is pretty. And really, it does help if the alarm clock is pretty.
And so, alarm clock hunting I must go. Anyone care to come along (with tissues) just in case it’s too traumatic? No? Well, never hurts to ask, right?