A Version Of The Fireside Chat: Blogging From Bed

It's pouring outside. I can just hear it. And it's severely deterring my desire to hit the gym this morning and pounce like a gerbil on the treadmill. There's something about a warm bed. One where you hit snooze 3 times because you're in love with how warm the bed gets and how crisply cold your face is because it's not under the covers.

But alas, this cuddle time with my warm bed will end.

Not because I'll hit the gym up this morning (I've just never been a morning worker-outter). There's this thing called breakfast that drops me to my knees faster than 1979-born boys and the Original Nintendo. I live for breakfast. It's my absolute favorite part of the day. Better than ice cream, getting off work early (which is up there on my list), and pedicures. So it's no reason why I bound down the stairs at lightning speed. There's a heaping bowl of Cheerios to inhale. I really should think about buying stock in Cheerios. I think I've kept the company from collapsing this Recession. That or Costco. Another fabulous institute.

And so now it's Wednesday, which makes me happy since we're almost on the downhill to the weekend. But there's still lots to do this week. There's a sale at Anne Taylor Loft that I've been wanting to hit up since there's been a severe shortage of crew-neck sweaters in the area. Yes, crew neck is Amish. But if I'm bent over a table doing paperwork, the last thing I want to do is give a peepshow. That was done once. It was a very windy day and I wasn't wearing a pencil skirt. Thank goodness no one was around for that incident.

Since I have a little extra time this morning, maybe I'll finish my laundry. Or unload the dishwasher (ugh). Or kill the yappy dog that lives next door. I could eat him for breakfast. But that'd be for my second breakfast of the day (doesn't everyone have 2?). Scrambled eggs, toast, and baconized yappy dog. Probably tastes like chicken. And sounds like silence.