Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Boring Day Challenge


I hereby dedicate the following boring day to my esteemed colleague, Mr. Moore.

Two weekends ago I woke up, fully alert.  The clock read 7:28.  I decided there was no way in hell I was getting up at an hour beginning with a '7' on a Saturday, so I fell back asleep.  Sometime later, I woke up again.  It was now 8:42.  I decided there was no way I was waking up at an hour beginning with an '8' on a Saturday, so I fell back asleep.  Sometime later I woke up again.  It was now 9:51.  I trudged out of bed, feeling proud that I managed to get myself up before the hour reached the double-digits. 

A pile of laundry greeted me at the foot of my bed.  I ignored its greeting.

Bleary-eyed from too much sleep, I meandered out to the couch.  I hopped on the internet (because that’s my coffee on a Saturday morning) and hit the “like” button on a few random facebook updates—not because I actually liked them, or even read them for that matter, but because I think it’s important to be supportive of my friends even when I don’t particularly care about their lives (see why people line up for miles to be my friend?).       

After my mad liking-spree, I stared at the clock for a while, wondering if I should wake up my kids who were now sleeping well into the double digits.  I decided to give them another half hour because waking up the kids meant that…well…I’d have kids.  While staring at the clock, I noticed that the minute hand was seven minutes fast.  Then I thought for a second that maybe the minute hand was just fine, and I had actually jumped seven minutes into the future.  If I was in the future, I thought it might be a good idea to gather as much information as possible to take back to my own time.  Unfortunately while I was contemplating what information I should gather, seven minutes passed, and I was back in my own time period again.  Strangely though, the minute hand was still ahead.

Once I finished analyzing the clock, I decided to make French toast and over-medium eggs, because it’s one of the two meals in this world I can cook.  I cracked open the first egg.  It was hard-boiled.  I cracked open a second egg.  It was hard-boiled too.  At this point I thought that maybe I should do the “spinning test” on egg #3 to make sure it wasn’t hard-boiled.  So I did, and it flew right off the counter onto the tile floor.  It was raw.  Well at least the test worked. 

After the dog licked up the egg, I made my over-medium eggs and French toast.  We were out of syrup, so I melted jelly and told the kids (who finally woke up) that it was specialty syrup.  Like the blueberry syrup you get at IHOP, but grape-flavored instead.  They looked skeptical.

I spent the rest of my fascinating morning in my jammies, eyes glazed over, staring at a computer screen and wishing I had a robot that would grade all my papers and make me look ten years younger.  I'm not sure how my robot would make me look younger...let's say it's a robot with a magic wand. 

And that concludes my boring day.

Okay, I realize that this technically was only a boring morning, but seriously, I haven’t experienced an entire boring day since 1996.  So this is about as good as it gets.

Mr. Moore, I better get a cookie for this.