My fucky morning

I don't mean to be rude, indeed, I rarely am. But I shall now narrate in continuous and heavily nuanced prose my morning as I got ready to make it for an 8am lecture today.

Waking up, rather at peace with myself and the alarm clock-handphone combination that greets me in the morning (a not unpleasant medley of di-di-di and 'I've been dreaming of a true love's keees'), I saw that it was 5.45 am and I was pleased. "Let there be light," I imagine I must have said, as I struggled to find my spectacles and threw off the book I fell asleep reading the night before. My room was a fond mess from the events of last night, and I turned to Anthony as he lay dead to the world in my bed and mused briefly on the blissful orgasm of the night before. I wish, first, that Anthony existed etcetera etcetera.

After a well-timed shower, I walked into my walk-in wardrobe and tried to pick out an outfit that would work with my new Zara sweater, settling first for a strange blue tee I'd never worn before but, noticing that the vapid plain space below the print accentuated my not-so-vapid midriff, I switched to my cute My Little Devil tee which I soon changed out of because the stupid devil showed through the hot neckline of my hot new Zara sweater, in which I look Zara hot, except in white My Little Devil tee etcetera etcetera. Finally, I settled on a nondescript white tee shirt and went to wax my hair. Today, the waxing of hair was done relatively quickly. My hair has moods- using the same product and the same technique, I get different looks every day, to great frustration- this means that my hair is the variable. Today, my hair was feeling agreeable, or maybe the early hour had put it off.  

I glanced at the clock and it showed 6.20, which meant I needed to rush if I was going to make the 6.30 train, and so, grabbing my trombone, my bag, socks and some other hand-occupying objects, I fumbled in my cupboard for cologne and knocked one over, which in turn knocked another over, sending a big, expensive glass-bottled one hurtling towards the ground. It broke with a crack way too stupendous for the early hour, and the room was filled at once with glass shards, a puddle of clear liquid and the musky scent of Polo Black. 

More later, more grief, more mishap.