Breakfast, My Place
I care about what people think of me when they first meet me. I limit profanity to words starting with f or s. I make sure that my butt crack isn't sticking out of my slightly slutty jeans by making sure that my thong shows instead of my crack. I do not answer my phone when I am talking to someone new, but I make sure that the ring volume is all the way up. I think it makes people feel special because they know that even though someone else wants to talk to me, I am putting them first. I like to make people feel good about themselves.
I may drop my pants or fall on my face or bring shame to my family in public on a monthly basis, but still, I care about first impressions. It's just that I'm not very good at them.
I'm also not very good at breakfast. I like a spicy Bloody Mary for breakfast. That may have something to do with how I end up ruining first impressions. I'm working on improving my breakfast habits by incorporating solid food into my morning routine.
Yesterday, I toasted a blueberry Eggo waffle and sat down on the couch to watch CNN. The day was off to a good start. I would have a solid breakfast and I would also be an informed citizen. The rest of the morning was to be simple:
1. Eat waffle.
2. Shower (deep condition, shave legs).
4. Wait for the gas man to service my furnace (that's not code for anything, I just like the way it sounds).
I never made it all the way through step one. When the gas man woke me up, I was still in my trampy shorts and tank top on the couch. CNN was still on the TV. Crumbs clung to my face. The waffle was clutched in my hand.
I screamed when I saw the gas man standing over me. That's when I realized that I had fallen asleep with a bite of waffle in my mouth.
The gas man laughed, "you look like The Hoff."
He'll never service my furnace again.