Manic Monday... Cruisin'

A soft breeze slowly caressing the bare skin of my leg is how I prefer waking up on a sunny Saturday morning in June. Laying on a bed with fresh sheets that had been hung out to dry, sheets that have become untucked and are loosely wrapped around my body, soft and caressing, are my idea of Nirvana. But, what I woke up to on this particular sunny and warm Saturday, back in my 22nd summer was infernal banging and foul language. I only contributed to the said foul language after I was awake, by the way. I think. Unless I was having one of those dreams again… I had spent the Friday evening out with my girlfriend Nancy who has been a constant in my life popping her head in from time to time since kindergarten. Long story short, her class came in to mine for story time. The teachers wanted the groups to mix. I invited her to share my nap mat and we’ve had an interesting relationship ever since… remind me to tell you someday about the time she nearly singed my eyebrows off in the chemistry lab. Ah yes... MY best girlfriend. Anyway, she and I had spent the night drinking Sangria (I forget how many pitchers, ... each...) and dancing. And I was now paying for it with a headache that a couple of aspirin and a lot of water had not managed to subdue. My peaceful slumber, and dreams of the very hot but completely unattainable bartender (Ok, so maybe some choice language may have been muttered in my sleep) had been replaced by the din of a work crew gearing up for a day of destruction. My neighbor was having his roof redone you see. How inconsiderate of him, doesn’t he know I enjoy some nightlife? And that I require some recuperative beauty sleep? My brain, still clouded by the mass quantities of libations clamoured for quiet. And then, it occurred to me that I had better jump in the shower, get dressed and investigate the source of the grievous offence to my peaceful, who am I kidding, sinful dreams. You see, I immediately associated the concept of the work crew with men dripping with sweat on a hot summer day, taking their shirts off with their glistening muscles flexing… wait... I lost my train of thought there for a minute… …. Ah yes, I said to myself: ‘Self’, I said, ‘get cracking! You don’t want to lose precious cruisin’ time. There are men out there! Jump in the shower, get yourself presentable, put on that new bikini and go out by the pool where you’ll see and be seen.’ Yes gentlemen readers, we women scope out the construction sites in the hope of a Lucky Vanous siting! Oh lord, I did it to myself again… So, I get out of bed and run to the shower, the sheet wrapped around my slightly sweaty body (did I mention how HOT the unattainable bartender was?). The reverberations of my every step causing me to wince in pain, oh my poor aching head… ‘Suck it up girl, there are sweaty MEN in tight fitting jeans and t-shirts and tool belts out there!’…. ….. Anyway, I nearly kill myself as I step and slip on the trailing sheet (hardwood floors and trailing sheets equate tripping and slipping hazard). After a few windmill motions with one arm, I make a snap decision and drop the sheet to the ground allowing me to brace myself against the wall and avert a tragedy. Imagine dear reader the sight of Yours truly laying spread eagle on the upstairs hall floor with raccoon eyes, Look, in the state I was in that night there was NO WAY I was going to start the make-up removal process.. I’m lucky to have landed on the bed… now if only I could remember how and where I took my clothes off…, unconscious, as two hunky paramedics attempt to revive me by … DAMN! OK.. so that was the wrong decision… I reach the bathroom, rush to turn on the shower, the sound of the rapidly flowing water remind me of nature and I take care of a few things… (ahem) turn around please, it’s one thing for you to watch me as I am about to enter the shower but I draw the line here! I have my pride! I step over the tub’s edge into the shower with my eyes closed , my head screaming at me, using some very foul language I might say, and WHOA! (insert curse of preference HERE)... Please folks, do remember to check the water’s temperature before stepping under a stream of water… I nearly went into cardiac arrest from the shock of ice cold water hitting my naked body… Imagine dear reader the sight of Yours truly laying spread eagle on the bathtub floor naked and wet with raccoon eyes,… I already explained the raccoon eyes, one night of not removing makeup will not ruin my skin for all time… lower your perfectly plucked eyebrows ladies… gentlemen I apologize for the rude interruption to the narrative… unconscious, as two hunky paramedics attempt to revive me by … DAMN! On a positive note... that was just what I needed to jolt me out of my Sangria induced haze. I reach forward and adjust the hot water. I then proceed to wash my face, yes dear reader, the racoon eyes are no more! I then wash my hair all the while daydreaming of hunky construction guys and... "oh...oh.. ow! My eyes!!... My eyes!!" ... shampoo drips into my left eye. My arms flail away as I reach out to grab a towel. Which I of course didn't bring with me as I rushed towards the shower, nearly cracking my skull open when I slipped on the trailing bedsheet. I try and hold my eye open under the stream of water, cursing the water saving shower head with epitaphs normally uttered by merchant marines and longshoremen. I manage to rinse my eye out, finish washing my body, thankful I had shaved my legs the evening before else I manage to knick an artery considering the way things were going. I step out of the shower, dripping wet. Apparently all the towels have been removed from the bathroom and fed to a mysterious towel eating beast aka the laundry hamper. I wring out my hair and walk out into the hallway, sopping wet, on my way to the linen closet to fetch towels. I tread carefully, not wanting to risk slipping on the hardwood floor because of wet feet. I grab some towels and wrap myself in one of the them. I then throw another on the floor so I can dry the water I've dripped as I go. Imagine dear reader the sight of Yours truly laying spread eagle on the hallway's hardwood floor, naked and wet sans raccoon eyes,… of course my left eye is slightly red from the shampoo... unconscious, as two hunky paramedics attempt to revive me by … DAMN! I make my way back to the bedroom, whip off the towel before having dried myself off completely, and rummage through the dresser looking for my bikini. "Aha! Found it!" I start putting on the bottom, it rolls on my wet skin.. I shimmy and jump and nearly fall over.. but I manage to put it on... I get the top on ... rush over to my dresser and comb through my wet hair.. twist it and pin it up.. tendrils falling around my face... Luckily I have a bit of a tan and there's a glow to my skin.. and all this jumping up and down got me a bit flushed (that and the thought of construction men in tight jeans and clinging t-shirts, sweating, with strong arms...) and my cheeks are rosy. I run back to the bathroom, to brush my teeth, carefully checking to make sure there isn't a stray puddle that would send me careening through a wall... Imagine dear reader the sight of Yours truly laying spread eagle on the hallway's hardwood floor, in my bikini,… of course my head is in the wall and all that's sticking out is my body.. a headless Ichabod Cranish looking bikini clad body... unconscious, as two hunky paramedics attempt to revive me by … DAMN! I run down, grab my sunglasses (I'm going to be checking out construction men in tight jeans and clinging t-shirts, sweating, with strong arms...) and head out the patio door, pausing to collect myself... I expect this... And this is what I find... Manic Monday is brought to you by the letter M... Thanks Morgen, it's a blog eat blog world! I love you all more than my luggage! Hugs, smooches and gropes!