|No one loves me more than I love me.|
I didn't make one of those at all last night.
I couldn't fall asleep.
Correction: I fell asleep about an hour and a half before the alarm went off and was sleeping so deeply that, according to the facial expressions of the cats and the minute hand of the clock, it took a solid 20 minutes to wake me.
I remember when a good night's rest was a given. I'd awaken feeling so energized in the mornings that I'd jump out of bed and burst into the bathroom like the Hope Diamond was in the soap dish.
While things have changed somewhat, it's nothing I can't handle as long as I have.....you know what's coming......coffee in the morning.
One of the few fancy-shmancy appliances we own is our coffee maker. It came with an instructional DVD, costume changes and grinds fresh beans before automatically measuring them to produce a delicious pot of coffee every time.
Our coffee maker has a programmable timer so that the aroma of brewing coffee will tickle your nose even before you've awakened from the dream that you and Maksim Chmerkovsky are about to win the Mirror Ball trophy on Dancing with the Stars.
You're wearing tangerine chiffon and a bump-it. You blush as Bruno spews superlatives and Maksim gazes gratefully into your eyes because he's been paired with clods for the past few seasons--until you came along. Everyone is referring to you as "Twinkletoes" plus you can smell french roast brewing backstage. Does it get better than this?
Sadly, Seth has forbidden the use of this feature because, once, a programmable coffee maker in outer Mongolia burst into flames from a power surge caused when the man pedaling the stationery bike that provided electricity for the entire village, having stepped off the bike to feed the chickens, got back on.
But even before coffee there is, actually, another ritual....
Factor in the cold, dry air of winter and many of us experience the seasonal affliction of, pardon the expression and the visual, dry skin. Moisturize as we do, dipping from huge vats of creams no less than twice a day, helps. But a good scratching session, while more destructive and time consuming, is a lot more fun.
Afterwards there is enough of your own DNA under your fingernails that if anyone murders your clone, you will become an immediate suspect.
There's also an obligatory period of post-scratching comtemplation: Is it possible I have a clone? If so, why-- since I am no bargain myself. Why would anyone murder my clone? Was it evil? How is Dolly the Sheep doing? Is House a re-run tonight?
Yes, mornings can be tough. But upon parking my coffee-drinking tuchas in front of the The Early Show and watching the morning news, I am immediately reminded that I live the life of a queen in a world that seriously needs a break.
Scratching, poor sleep and re-runs of House still make up a lucky, blessed existence...so enjoy your day, everyone.