Donning yoga pants (duh) and a tank top, I made my way to the living room where I commenced to doing yoga the way my bestie, FloJo, had taught me. I had no DVD, I had no YouTube tutorial, I just moved. I saluted, I warriored, I bridged, I stretched, I inhaled through my nose. I exhaled through my eyelids. My toes were in tree position. My body knew--just knew--how it was supposed to behave during a yoga session.
The cats sat on the ballet barre that we have in our living room and watched me with an intense yet approving stare as I moved my body in ways I didn't think I could. When my workout finished, I namasted to the dogs who had laid at the kitchen door with their heads on their paws during my entire routine.
I did feel better for working out in the mornings. Who knew, right?
I proceeded to cook a full breakfast for my family. I made individual omelets in individual omelet pans that I don't remember actually buying. I squeezed--SQUEEZED, y'all--orange juice and set the glasses in the freezer until the family got up and around. And then I checked on the pot roast I had simmering in the crockpot. My kitchen smelled divine. I was pretty sure that if the producers at any major television network could have seen me in all of this morning's glory, I'd have been offered my own talk show on how to be perfect.
Then Brian showed up in the kitchen. He was wearing his karate uniform--I thought this was weird because he doesn't take karate. As far as I know he has never taken karate. I don't even know if he pretended to do karate on the playground during his fourth grade year. Yet, here he stood in my kitchen wearing his karate uniform ... ruining my morning.
"HEY!" he yelled. Jeez. There was no reason to yell and mess with my morning. So, I just glared at him.
"HONEY!" he yelled again. Why in the world did he think yelling was at all appropriate this morning? "HEATHER!"
"What?!" I yelled back. All that yoga goodness from earlier that morning was completely zapped from my body.
beepbeepbeep. beepbeepbeep. beepbeepbeep.
Alarm clocks kill. Alarm clocks kill dreams. They also kill big breakfasts.