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.