Good Morning To You Too, Hole Where My Pocket Used To Be

Do you ever have one of those mornings where you can't remember if you put on deodorant, let alone pants?

I got into the car this morning, hair curled, shoes tied, makeup on, all that, but something felt wrong.

"Maybe that's cause it's 6:15 in the morning," I grumbled to myself. "Six mother fucking fifteen." I like to talk with a Samuel L. Jackson accent when it's early in the morning. Crystal loves it. "Mornin puppy dawg. Let's get this potty time buuuuuuullshit over with, this mother fucker has got to get her ass to work."

So, I start the car and look away from the clock to my pants. My pajama pants. My flannel pajama pants, tucked neatly into my socks, where I put them while I was tying my Vans on.

Awesome.

Good thing I checked, otherwise I would have had a really awkward time trying to explain to the auditor why it is I had the clothes-version of a mullet on - Business on the top, party on the bottom. Now lets get this fact checking shit on the road Mr. Aud-i-tor, mama's got some mother fucking instant oatmeal to eat.