It was a dark and stormy night and thus my dreams were lit with flashes of lightning penetrating my subconscious. I slept fitfully, tossing and turning until at last it was time to rise. Grumbling, my vision sleep-blurred, I stumbled through my morning routine and decided to drive to work rather than ride the bus; we needed groceries, and I could stop at the supermarket on the way home.
Despite my lack of sleep I felt reasonably refreshed and aware by the time I climbed into the car. Because I've been making an effort to eat breakfast more consistently, I stopped at Tim Horton's for a toasted bagel and a hot chocolate.
I ate the bagel without incident, waiting for the hot chocolate to cool as I headed downtown. Just as I was turning into the parking lot, I thought this would be an opportune time to peel back the lid of my beverage and enjoy a shot of sugar and caffeine.
But capricious Fate was up to her old tricks, and as I fumbled with the hot chocolate I hit a bump in the parking lot. The car lurched upward as my fingers thrust down, and in an instant my hand thrust violently through the lid and into the (thankfully) lukewarm drink. A geyser of hot chocolate erupted from the wounded cup.
Hot chocolate covered my hand, my sleeve. Hot chocolate sprayed across the console, the stick shift. Hot chocolate coated the steering wheel, filled the cup holder. Hot chocolate soaked my phone. Hot chocolate spattered my glasses. Hot chocolate matted down my hair and filled my right ear.
In shock, I phoned my boss and said I'd be a little late. Dripping with sugary muck, the stick shift and steering wheel wet with wasted libations, I turned around and drove home to change, shower and quickly detail the cockpit of the car. When all was said and done I was only about 45 minutes late for work, but it wasn't the sweet start to my day I'd hoped for.
Then, at about 2:30, Sylvia phoned. Clearly alarmed but remarkably composed considering her bug phobia, she reported that she'd had to kill a centipede that had nefariously wormed its way into the living room. The creature's corpse now slumbered beneath the tea towel that Sylvia had resourcefully used to snare it before stomping it to death with extreme prejudice. Sylvia's feet are tiny but not to be trifled with.
Given the events of the day, we decided to cancel the grocery shopping. Fate tempted thrice is often unkind.
Despite my lack of sleep I felt reasonably refreshed and aware by the time I climbed into the car. Because I've been making an effort to eat breakfast more consistently, I stopped at Tim Horton's for a toasted bagel and a hot chocolate.
I ate the bagel without incident, waiting for the hot chocolate to cool as I headed downtown. Just as I was turning into the parking lot, I thought this would be an opportune time to peel back the lid of my beverage and enjoy a shot of sugar and caffeine.
But capricious Fate was up to her old tricks, and as I fumbled with the hot chocolate I hit a bump in the parking lot. The car lurched upward as my fingers thrust down, and in an instant my hand thrust violently through the lid and into the (thankfully) lukewarm drink. A geyser of hot chocolate erupted from the wounded cup.
Hot chocolate covered my hand, my sleeve. Hot chocolate sprayed across the console, the stick shift. Hot chocolate coated the steering wheel, filled the cup holder. Hot chocolate soaked my phone. Hot chocolate spattered my glasses. Hot chocolate matted down my hair and filled my right ear.
In shock, I phoned my boss and said I'd be a little late. Dripping with sugary muck, the stick shift and steering wheel wet with wasted libations, I turned around and drove home to change, shower and quickly detail the cockpit of the car. When all was said and done I was only about 45 minutes late for work, but it wasn't the sweet start to my day I'd hoped for.
Then, at about 2:30, Sylvia phoned. Clearly alarmed but remarkably composed considering her bug phobia, she reported that she'd had to kill a centipede that had nefariously wormed its way into the living room. The creature's corpse now slumbered beneath the tea towel that Sylvia had resourcefully used to snare it before stomping it to death with extreme prejudice. Sylvia's feet are tiny but not to be trifled with.
Given the events of the day, we decided to cancel the grocery shopping. Fate tempted thrice is often unkind.
Sorry you had a lousy start to you Monday. Here's a suggested new menu for Earl's breakfast:
ReplyDeleteMicrowave oatmeal (only takes 1 minute) with a small handful of fruit like blueberries, bananas or chopped apple. Accompanied by hot drink in a stainless steel mug (no waste or bad plastics and avoids spills).
Breakfast can be enjoyable if not worn in your lap. I eat this oatmeal at home before I go to work.