Sam slapped blindly at the annoying sound, silencing it. Just a few more minutes, please. The sun fell across his face and he jolted upright. The clock flashed 8:00 am. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Two little faces stood at the foot of his bed. “You’re not supposed to say shif,” his youngest said.
He rubbed his eyes, “Daddy didn’t mean to say it.”
“You said it fwee times.”
Why didn’t he get up when the alarm went off at 6 am?
“Did we mth school?” his daughter asked.
“No,” he said, ruffling their hair, “just making a grand entrance.”