The morning began, interestingly enough, with a scream and then an awkward shuffling preceding the sound of water running. "I just stepped in dog vomit," Savannah whined, scrubbing her foot while I mentally time-lined the doggie digestive problem back to its auspicious beginning to when I discovered my shredded slipper (with genuine imitation lamb's wool lining) strewn all over my bed last night. I sighed, pushing back the covers: Tuesday had arrived in its customary fashion.
While Savannah took the dogs out for their morning constitution, I gathered up my puke-picking up supplies and encountered, not one sedentary pile but, a trail of slipper-filled slobber that had wound its way across my dining room. A silver-lining type of gal, I still managed to see the good in this situation; grinning as I spotted Savannah's bare-foot print clearly visible in one impressive puddle and then another skid mark indicating that she'd slid through another one on her desperate race through the darkened room to disinfect her foot.
Having survived the morning, Savannah departed for work while Syd and I jumped in the truck. "Do I look cute," Sydney had asked her father, looking for reassurance but never really wanting to know the full truth. Knowing this, Brad ignored the giant lump of hair protruding out of the top of her beautiful braid. Contorting her body so that she could catch a glimpse of herself in the tiny sun-visor of the truck, Sydney gasped as she recognized her resemblance to a unicorn and hurried to un-do the damage. By this time, I was in full-fledged hysteria as I realized that the irony of this entire Tuesday morning was blasting out of the radio: American Authors singing "This is gonna be the best day of my life." Ah Tuesday...thou art Monday's bitch.
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