There were days in a stronger economy that, when my morning went badly enough, I would take a mental-health sick day and just stay in bed where I belonged.
This morning was one of those mornings. I woke up late. I chipped my mother's hand-me-down 20-year-old cookie jar giving the dog a biscuit. My low tire-pressure alarm beeped in the car, and I nailed a curb dropping the boyfriend home at his apartment. But with the economy being what it is, the only thing keeping me at home this year is the swine flu.
So I wasn't really that surprised when my usual karate-chop kick to flush the toilet at work missed, and I ended up crashing against the back wall of the rest room loudly enough to receive a knock from the men's side.
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