Good mornings, start with caffeine

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
every had one of those mornings, where everything just seems to go wrong.
well thats what this short is about.

Submitted: March 09, 2009

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 09, 2009



Good mornings, start with caffeine
I woke up to the incessant beeping of my alarm clock declaring the start of another day but I was not ready for that day and longed to crawl back beneath my quilt and drift off to dreamland once more.
As always though my sense of responsibility got the better of me and I was soon out of bed and heading for the coffee machine. The first cup of the day was always a necessity for me and so leaving the kettle to boil I slipped into the shower enjoying the warm water which cascaded over.
As I washed my hair I groaned irritably as a long trail of mahogany hair dye swilled around the plug hole in a constant stream informing me in its own way that I would soon need to stock up on some more hair dye.
Buffing my skin until it was red and just beginning to sting I slipped out of the shower and perched myself on the side of the bath. Dragging the razor over my legs hurriedly and cursing violently as the blade cut into the skin at my knee. Dashing away at the blood with my finger I cursed men and my need to impress them. Wondering why I bothered to torture myself like this. Of course the answer was simple. It was always the day’s when you didn’t that the, oh so sexy, guy you’ve been eyeing for months decides you might be worth a look. Of course when you made the effort they never wanted to know. You just couldn’t win.
Wrapping the towel around me, I pause. I’m sure the towel was bigger yesterday but then towels don’t grow and shrink do they? No! But people do. Cursing again I head for the scales and not liking the numbers I see I try in vain to shift my weight in the hope of improvement. It fails miserably and I’m all but ready to dive back under my quilt and sink into self loathing when to my horror theirs a knock at the door.
Snatching my towel up I whip it around my clearly bulging frame and then search franticly for my dressing gown but without success. With blood trickling from my knee and wet hair dripping down my back I scurry down the hall opening the door just a crack to see Mrs Burch beaming up at me from underneath her huge mass of purple rinse curls.
“Hello Samantha,” She croaks, reaching out a gnarled hand and throwing it in the direction of the street.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you hadn’t put your bins out today. Now I don’t mean to be a pest but if we don’t keep on top of these things dear then there’s no telling what might be attracted to the neighbourhood and I’m sure the last thing you want it to attract the rats. Of course I know you’re a very busy woman what with your little secretary job and all but I’ve always been a firm believer that nothing should be more important than house and home and these little hobby’s some woman have these days such as yours should really not be put before home and family.”
“I’m a little bit behind this morning Mrs Burch.” I replied ignore her little comments as best I could.
“Well dear now that’s as may be. But the bin men may not be behind and then you’ll regret it won’t you,” She chirped irritating me beyond belief.
“I’ll just get dressed and then I’ll be right on it,” I said forcing a smile to my face and closing the door before she could say anything more.
Glancing longingly at the kettle as I fetched my clean clothes from the kitchen I let out a sigh. As placing my hands on its sides I discovered that it was already going cold. Flicking the switch to boil once more I then scurried back to my bedroom to blow dry my hair trying to force it into shape with tongs and clips while it refused point blank to do what I wanted it too. Finely giving in and admitting defeat I took the easy option and just stuck it in a pony tail. It wasn’t exactly classy and sexy but it would have to do for today.
Then into my black suit with perfectly clean and crisp shirt and a pair of black killer hills for effect. I was finely ready for a well earned and badly needed cup of coffee or at least I thought I was but the sharp rap on the door soon forced the thought from my mind as I remember Mrs Burch and the bins.
“Oh good your dressed,” she said as I opened the door. “You know their up the top of the road. If I were you I’d hurry,” she cried, and then scurried away while I rushed to the garage fighting against the door which had done its favourite trick and jammed.
Icould hear the beeping of the refuse truck as it reversed down the road but as hard as I fought against the door it refused to budge. Throwing my weight as hard as I could against the top the bottom suddenly flew out leaving me sliding down it and on to the cold tarmac of the drive. Brilliant!
Picking myself up and dusting off my suite I heaved the door up and slipped inside. Pulling at the wheelie bin, one wheel of which, had chosen today of all days to go and get itself tangled in the hose. The hose that I may have lobed in there the day before when Mrs Burch complained that it was an eye sore laying, as it had been at the time, across the drive and over the front garden in a mad tangled mass.
Cursing angrily as I fought to free it and having no success I simply snatched at the bags inside and scurried to the pavement where the bin men were already piling up my neighbours bags. Passing my two to a large, tough looking man with tattoos covering almost every inch of his arms, I gave a polite smile and then froze horrified as there on my hand was a large, black and very evil looking spider.
Screaming I flung my arm in the air and danced around in a panic worried that it was still on me and certain that I could feel it crawling over my skin. Tattoo man to my amazement was doing a very similar dance beside me and it was then that I noticed the spider fly through the air as tattoo man bashed it from his hair. The other bin men by now where in hysterics although weather it was my antics or their colleagues I was not all together sure.
I hurriedly apologised to tattoo man, who looked close to having a heart attack, before quickly retreating in doors as fast as I could. While I was collapsed against my front door, trying to gather my thoughts I happened to look up and into the hall mirror.
“No! No! No!” I cried, as I spotted the large stain on my crisp, white collar that could only be one thing. Bin juice! Cringing I pulled my jacked off only to find that this too had smears of the disgusting substance all over it.
“Damn it,” I snapped chucking off my clothes as I hurried to the bathroom. But as I was snatching for my shower cap I spotted the large expensive bottle of bubble bath and equally expensive bath salts. The way I saw it there were two options. I could hurriedly re-shower, re-dress, and rush to work apologising profusely to my boss for my lateness and risk going without my coffee till lunchtime or I could run a bath complete with expensive pampering items, relaxing music and flickering candles, not to mention a very large mug of coffee, and simply pick up the phone and feign sickness.
The responsible side of me of course jumped in once more and before I knew it I was surrounded by the everyday sounds of the office.
“Robson and son’s how can I help you?” I mouthed along to Hazel’s spoken words.
“Hazel! Can you put me through to Sharon? I’ve been up all night on the loo. There’s no way I can make it in.”
Well it would hardly be sensible to wander out into the world with luck so decidedly against me, would it.

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