Tuesday, November 3, 2009


I should print this sign on a t-shirt.

When I was little, my Mom used to call it "Getting up on the Wrong Side of the Bed."

I couldn't figure that out because my bed was up against the wall.

Once, I crawled out the end of the bed to see if that qualified as the "wrong side." It didn't work.

My sunny disposition has been sullied by a list of things to do as long as my arm which in turn is making me mean. Since my mood was foul anyway, I cleaned out the bathroom closet, the hallway closet, the pantry and anything else I could get my hands on. Our trash cans were glorious.

Back to the bears, I should be locked up in a cage with a tranquilizer dart sticking out of my rear end. I may attack for no apparent reason even if I got out of bed on the proper side.

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