WAKEY, WAKEY. . .

          I don’t know about you, but it takes me a long time to wake up in the morning.

I totter to the bathroom and run the bathwater.  Then I swear, because the last person using the shower didn’t switch it back to the faucet, and now my head is soaking wet, along with the shoulders of my bathrobe!

I dry my hair while waiting for the water to heat up.  I shed my robe and step into the deliciously hot water running from the tap.  It continues to pour forth hot for about ten more seconds, and then turns colder than Bob Dole’s smile.  I swear again.

Once that ordeal is over, I step out, dry off, and brush my teeth . . . with hair conditioner.  My teeth don’t get clean, but, by God, they sure are manageable!

Next, deodorant.

The container is empty, so I put two bay leaves under each armpit, so that if I do sweat, at least I’ll smell like soup. Hair dry, I massage in styling mousse . . . which turns out to be shaving cream.  I swear a third time and rinse out my hair.  It now smells, according to the can, like a fresh spring morning in Ireland.  Well, at least it isn’t green.

Hairspray next.  Wrong again.  It’s RAID.  So now I have hair that smells like an Irish roach motel, teeth that are touchably soft, and a really bad attitude.

          I get dressed and stomp downstairs, snatch open the freezer and grab some frozen waffles . . . only they aren’t frozen waffles.  They are honeycombed Handi-Wipes that some fool had put in the freezer, and I don’t discover my error until I’ve heated them up, loaded them with syrup, and taken the first bite!

          Well, at least I can have a cup of coffee.  Nope.  It is freshly perked potting soil that I had put in a coffee tin and forgotten all about.

Not feeling safe in my own home any longer, I jump into my car and speed to work.

          Another mistake.

           It’s Sunday.