Suppose it was peeps (the marshmallow, sugary delights you get around Easter, notyour friends) that caused it all. Might’ve been the head cold too, but those are really meant for whinging and thinking on things better not thought about. But, well, suppose it was the peeps and only the peeps.
And, unfortunately, life’s kicked in too. You’ve got a job now, might not be one you wanted or particularly care for, but you’re making money (and sometimes that’s all that matters). And you have to get up early, really early. Not 10 or 9, or even 8, but 7 and 6, sometimes 5:30 (if the moon’s full or Doctor Who’s back on air) Which has led to the gruesome discovery of repetitive hours in the day and that’s bloody horrible.
Well, all’s fair in slumber and jobs (or reality, depending on how old you’ve gotten – or jaded), and now you’ve an annoying alarm, a new towel (as Douglas Adams always recommends) that’s meant for longer days, and a job, with money. And that’s the crime there, the money.
Supposing you had no money, well, then you couldn’t buy things. You wouldn’t be waking up ridiculously early either and that’s a key fact too (but something better pondered when you’ve a head cold). And if you can’t buy things then you wouldn’t have bought the peeps (in all their yellowly, sugary goodness) – unless, of course, you stole then but again, that’s better pondered with a head cold.
But, sad as it is, you’ve got money, you bought the peeps, and you have to wake up ridiculously early to go to work for something you may or may not care about.
So, it the first 6 o’clock of the day, the real first problem, and you’ve not quite had your morning drink yet – coffee, tea, soda, alcohol – meaning you’re half asleep, and those peeps were bright, and yellow, and stale (seeing how you opened them last night and they never keep for more than a few hours) and, well, it pissed you off.
Best to melt them, you think. It’ll teach them, being so chipper in the morning when its too bloody early. And you put them in the microwave…
BOOM!
There goes the microwave, murdered into pieces and covered in sweet stuff. Part of the counter is gone too. And a part of the floor’s caught on fire. Oh, and no more drapes, there nice and crisp now (they were a gift anyway, so no worries). Whoops, there’s the fire alarm – that’ll wake the neighbors. And you’ve lost your eyebrows.
But, tell you what, those peeps are bloody gone and that’s all that matters, what with it being so ridiculously early and all.
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