… ’cause I’m about to fall to pieces.
4 AM – Miss Piggy wakes me, wanting to go outside.
4:10 AM – I shiver outside on the deck, calling her as loudly as I dare without waking the neighbors. She either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care. Perhaps both.
4:15 AM – I go inside and back to sleep anyhow.
4:40 AM – Miss Piggy barks at the back door until I let her inside. I go back to sleep. Again.
6:00 AM – Miss Piggy wakes me. Again. Let her out the front door this time, standing in my bare feet on the front porch until she comes back.
6:10 AM – Coffee to warm me.
6:20 AM – More coffee to wake me.
6:30 AM – More coffee. Still not awake, still not warm.
7:00 AM – Still drinking coffee, trying to get it to toes.
9:00 AM – Decide to wash my hair to eliminate embarrassing case of Bed Head. Plan to lean over tub and use handy-dandy spray hose so that I can remain in warm jammies.
9:05 AM – Turn sprayer on hair. Loud crash makes me drop sprayer, wetting the wallpaper as well as my warm jammies. Nine-inch pottery orchid pot has fallen off the ledge and into the tub, spewing its contents–orchid, crushed bark, soil, clear marbles, and broken pottery shards all over tub bottom.
9:07 AM – Dearly Beloved comes into bathroom to see cause of noise. He looks at wife with dripping hair, tub with sodden mess, and backs out of room.
Upon request, he brings me a garbage bag and says he will leave me alone, explaining that he knows I am embarrassed.
Embarrassed? Definitely not the word I would have selected.
9:15 AM – Cleaning swampy-looking mess out of tub when I notice that pot took out chunk of tub on its way down. Embarrassed yet? Again, not the right word.
9:20 AM – I root through the collected mess and find what I hope is missing tub chunk.
9:30 AM – I decide to blog while hair is drying, writing post about airline pilot who went to the loo mid-flight to relieve himself, then couldn’t get the bathroom door open to return to cockpit and land plane.
Did HE felt embarrassed? Probably not his choice either.
10:30 AM – Dearly Beloved reads post and groans, “Not another poop post! That’s all you’ve been writing lately!”
He has a point. I toss my tale into the can.*
Okay, maybe now I am embarrassed.
I blow dry my hair. Much better. No bed head embarrassment.
To err is human; clean hair is divine.
(*Token potty pun to prevent addiction withdrawal.)