Today, I had the worst possible morning available on the planet. I woke up at my usual far-too-early-to-be-up time and did my usual routine. It was when I started wrestling with nylons that things went down a dark, dreary path. As I'm clumsy at the best of times, putting nylons on has never been a fun adventure for me. Today, I managed to poke my finger right through the knee without even trying.
Muttering under my breath about sucky morning routines, I managed to get another pair on without incident. I stood up and stepped right in a magically apprearing accidental bit of kitty poo. I proceded to utter maledictions at a louder volume. Limping about so as not to spread poo through the house, I cleaned up the mess and put on nylons number 3. I didn't poke a hole in them and I dodged around Dylan, glaring at him and muttering. Dylan, sensing that my discontent would lead to no kitty treat, starting dashing around the garage at super-sonic speed.
At this point, I realized Chris had turned the clock backwards while I was in the shower. The maledictions reached a crescendo as I now was late and couldn't drink coffee. Dylan decided to swipe at my nylons as he darted past. Getting even louder in my discontent, Chris mumbled from under a blanket pile that Dylan and I were being pretty loud this morning. I sweetly mentioned that the feeling of moist poo through nylons isn't how I meant to start my day.
Dylan again swiped at nylons number 3 as he zoomed past. I threatened him with the oft-repeated "I'm taking you back to the orphange!" as I thumped out the door. I barely managed to catch my bus (running in an awkward fashion as my subconscious checked for poo piles) and bleated contentedly at the local coffee shop in Denver. Mornings like this deserve a bit of beer for dinner.
An Erinku:
yellow notepad
dropping pages
desk littered with
choir to-dos.
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