Pink Flamingos and morning breath

So it happened. I should have known it was going to. I'm not even sure what my poor befuddled brain was doing ignoring a "spidey sense" directive. Will I never learn?? To tell the story, I have to start at the beginning...

I woke up this morning to an odd "thump thump" noise. (Well, OK, really I'd woken up once at 3 to let Lu's cat into her room because he was frantically scratching at the door because he's obsessed with Lu. Which of course meant that I had to go to the bathroom because well, three children used my bladder as a trampoline. Then I woke again briefly at 6 when hubby's alarm went off. Long enough to kick him out of bed anyway.) So I glance at the clock from my warm cocoon under the covers and realize it's 8 am. The sun is shining gloriously in the windows and when I lift my head I see that the "thump thump" is the cats tail furiously smacking the window sill on which she's sitting. Apparently the birds and bees are taunting her.

I roll over and take stock of myself. This is when I realize that the area above my upper lip is crusty. Eeeewww...gross. I'm in possession of an extremely runny nose and watery eyes. Thank you allergy season. Next I realize that while the spinal sensation that was tormenting me last night has eased (thank you hydrocodone, but only one because two makes me have crazy ass dreams) my leg muscles do not seem to want to work right this morning. Well, I'm off to a great start, no? So I haul my carcass out of bed and head to the bathroom. As I sit there, I eye my capri pants from yesterday which I have haphazardly thrown on the floor by the scale. The idea was that I would put them back on this morning, just in case I had to answer the door at any point before I showered. Let me explain: I'm wearing the "vile" pajama shorts. So named by Lu. I'll admit that they are not stylish, but vile may be a little harsh. They are knee length, black w/white stripes that look like paint dribbles, and dancing pink flamingos. I bought them for 75 cents on clearance at Kmart. Really, at that price how could I not buy them?? I mean, they're just to sleep in, so who cares what they look like? Not I. So, I may not be known for my stylish sleepwear- my other pair of sleep shorts are a rather loud orange color with pink flowers. But so?? Anyway, I didn't feel like fighting with my aching muscles and changing pants. I ignored that little niggling "what if?" in the back of my mind.

Eye drops, fibro meds, claritin and an empty bladder later, I stumble to the kitchen for my daily dose of ambition caffeine. Sean says something to me but I'm not coherent yet so I give him a little wave and head to the computer. I read news, do emails, start enjoying bloggy land and am in fact gigglesnorting at Elly Lou's bra woes when it happens. A minivan pulls onto the road in front of my house. Now, when you get to the end of our driveway, you can take a right into the camp itself, or you can go left to our house driveway or my husbands workshop. It hesitates and silently I will it to turn right. But no, it swings left. The problem with this is that I know my hubby is not in his shop or his home office. I've seen his red work truck zipping about all morning- from the shop to camp, from camp to the drive, back and forth. (Why is he always in such a hurry?) I know that Lu is still asleep. And I know that Sean is out somewhere with the dog. Who does that leave to answer the doorbell? Yep, moi. Vile shorts and all. Add to the shorts a purple tshirt (yes, I know I don't match at all), no makeup, my orphan annie hair up in a messy bun, my reading glasses perched firmly on my nose, moving at the speed of a very old and possibly lame turtle, and...coffee breath. Let's just say I'm nobody's idea of a pretty picture this morning. I'm much more likely to scare people. I wonder if I could open the door, screech in rapid Spanish and convince them I'm the housekeeper?? Horrifiyingly, the only Spanish phrase that springs to mind is "numero nueve con queso por favor", and that's not fooling anyone. "Number nine with cheese please" is all the Spanish my husband knows, it's kind of a joke at our house.

Reluctantly, I limp to the door and try to put on an inviting smile and pleasant tone, hoping that they just concentrate on my face and fail to notice the other discrepancies in my appearance. It's a very nice older gentleman who lets me know that they've just come to get the tractor that their son in law left parked in the field across from my house after doing some volunteer work for hubby on Sunday. "Awesome" I say. And then throw in a "have a nice day!" as an afterthought.

Someday, I will learn to always listen to the nagging voice in my head, to shower first so that I always look presentable. Oh hell, who am I kidding? That's so not happening. I mean, seriously, what would I write about then??

Rockin my mismatched hideous pjs,
♥Spot