The corn was as high as an elephant's eye

This morning, despite my attempts to wake up irritable and bleary-eyed, the sun insisted on streaming through the bright curtains on my window like a rainbow of fairies on crack. I closed the curtains to prevent this unnaturally happy vibe from washing into my room into the morning, and to maintain the status quo. So my room will look like any decent bedroom is supposed to look at 8 in the morning: like the belly of a thundercloud. I tried to snooze my alarm, but that required opening my eyes, and as soon as I did that, all the comforting sleep-slime and crustiness serving as a protective barrier between morning and my corneas kind of just evaporated and I felt wide-awake. Damn it.
I was already annoyed because I couldn't manage my traditional A.M. bad mood with my room looking like a Lucky Charms box, so I didn't shower. You know, to even things out a bit. If I can't be crotchety at least I can stink.
Then I got dressed. Good jeans should not be stretchy--kind of like good mornings should not be magically delicious--but somehow I wound up with this one pair that shrinks down a size every time I wash them. And I blame the stretch. I usually wear them around the house awhile before going out so that they don't actually accentuate my crack, but this particular morning I didn't have the luxury. And giving a crap before ten is not part of my MO. So I threw on the jeans and gave myself a quick look in the mirror, which is when the morning had its way with me. I may not have been able to fit a credit card in my back pocket, but I can appreciate a confidence booster when I get one. My pants were much too tight, but my butt looked good and I'll wake up at 6 A.M. for the rest of the year if looking in the mirror gives me the shot of self-confidence I felt this morning.

Then crossing the street a little later Richard Gere tried to pick me up in a Maserati and it was all very embarrassing.