There is something to be said for a good night's sleep.
There is also something to be said for signs that you need one.
I woke up Tuesday morning to the sound of squealing brakes and an engine that seriously needed a tuneup right outside my window. I sat there for a few seconds, trying to figure out (1) what was causing the noise, (2) whether I really cared what was making it, (3) how badly I needed to go the bathroom, and (4) whether I wanted to go back to sleep. I was leaning heavily towards no on #2, not too bad on #3, and hell yes on #4 when the following thought entered my head and answered #1:
"Oh, #*%!. It's the garbage man!"
I had forgotten to take the garbage can around front the night before so I jumped up, grabbed my glasses, and made a run for it. I didn't care that I was in the Snoopy pajamas that my sister gave me for Christmas. I didn't care that the braless twins were swinging freely. I didn't care that my hair looked positively electrified. I just cared that I would have to continue smelling the reek of week-old garbage unless I chased the garbage man down the street. I was halfway down the stairs before another thought occurred to me.
"It's Tuesday, not Wednesday. Garbage comes on Wednesdays."
Embarrassed, I turned around, went back up the stairs, and finally peeked out the window. Sure enough, there was no garbage truck outside, just a school bus. My embarrassment turning to anger, I let go of the blinds and laid down next to the tapeworms that I did not yet know were sharing my bed. It wasn't until sometime later, most likely during my parasite meltdown, that I finally realized another error of my ways.
Garbage is now on Thursdays.
Too bad the sound outside my window wasn't someone hitting one of these:
Or even holding up a roll of these:
I could have so used a do over Tuesday or at least a sign that said, "Warning: Tapeworms! Two inches from your head!"
