Morning, Suckas

Last night, before laying my head upon my downy pillow, I climbed onto my rooftop and shouted a cry that traveled far and wide:

"OH, GENERIC NIGHTTIME COLD MEDICINE, HOW I LOVE YOU SO! YOU TURN MY BED INTO A HEAVENLY CLOUD THAT SAILS ME INTO A CUSHY WORLD OF LOVE AND SILENCE! THANK YOU, CVS. FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY BLACK HEART . . . THANK YOU!"

This morning, I woke up. I woke to little mice whispering outside my bedroom door:

"She's waking up. Here she comes. Ready?"

I lift my head. Gone is the love. I am Frank the Tank with a horse-tranquilizing dart rammed into my jugular.

The mice voices are loud now . . . and s-l-o-w-w-w-w:

"H-E-R-E C-O-M-E-S T-H-E M-O-N-S-T-E-R!" says my husband, dressed in suit and tie. Smart and spiffy. The boys, Hooligans #1 and #2, laugh and point at me.

I stumble to a mirror. It is bad. The hair is Yahoo Serious. My eyes have packed enough bags for a month-long getaway. My head is a stationary Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade Balloon.

I go back to bed.

Here comes my husband, on Day Four of his latest cleanse/juicing/wheatgrass health kick. Although still a biggish man, he has lost seven pounds. In front of me, he and the boys are ecstatically singing, "Celebration!" They are dancing and my husband is doing this little white man clap--two claps over each shoulder. (Clap, clap!)

The boys jump on top of me. They dance and sing: "Celebrate good times, c'mon!" (Clap, clap!)

"MOMMY IS SLEEPING! MOMMY IS SICK TODAY!" I yell.

"Mommy is eating too much processed food!" says my dancing husband.(Clap, clap!)

"WILL KOOL 'N THE GANG PLEASE EXIT MY ROOM?"

Oh, CVS Nighttime Cold Medicine. You are a pharmaceutical one-night stand.

Up and at 'em.