Good Morning

Waking up is like dying,
Except you're going up instead of down
and your skin isn't blue.

This morning I woke up,
My skin wasn't blue,
and it wasn't pleasant.

After I showered the low humidity made
My hair paste to my head and
my skin dry up faster than
One says "ow" while
being eaten alive by Jaws.

Every morning this occurrence
causes any excess movement
[aka: Looking up, talking,
screaming as a monster
jumps out of my closet yelling
"there's my silk pair of panties"]
To hurt and make me look like
A caricature of Michael Jackson.

It does have it's bonus' though.
I've discovered that if I elongate my nose
and squint my eyes in the mirror,
I resemble a rapid pterodactyl.

Or, if I crane my neck forward,
pout my lips,
and bite my cheeks
I could potentially pass as
Mick Jagger.

So, this particular morning I was trying
To pull off what my dog, Wagger, must look like,
By flaring my nostrils
and furrowing my brow,
When I heard a crash downstairs.

It startled me
and I exclaimed a classy
"Yaaaah" in astonishment
while leaping back,
knocking into the self behind me
and sending a cascading
shower of toiletries
clashing to the ground.

A glass bottle containing
lavender bubble bath
hit me over the head,
and I was knocked out
To the timid sound of my sister
Yelling from below,
"Sorry."

I awoke much later,
With my family gathered around me.
I was still in the bathroom
With lavender gel in my hair.

My sister was sitting on the toilet,
my Dad kneeling over me,
and as I turned I could see my mother and my dog,
conveniently huddled in the bathtub.

"Are you all right?" my sister asked,
Leaning forward to hear my response.

But none came. I couldn't speak.
It was as if my lips had frozen
and then stored in tuber wear and
sealed forever,
rotting away in the back of some 'old farting woman's
refrigerator.

"Ia'm shfine" I managed finally.
"Oh thank god" was my father's choice of words.
For the next ten minutes as we all just sat;
Awkwardly glancing back and forth until I enquired,
"Whut hoopened?"

My sister looked at my father,
who looked at my mother,
who stared desperately at the dog,
who did nothing but dumbly wag his tail,
content to be with us all
Even if he could possibly never get out of the tub
By himself.

"Well..." Mom started,
"your mother..." Dad tried to add.
My sister cut to the chase:
"Mom's been hiding Botox."
"MARGARET" Mom rallied.

My sister shrugged, "well it's true."

Panic started to creep into my stomach,
"Dud?"
"Yes, son?"
"Shvy caunt I mooff my shvace?"

They all looked at each other again,
Then he said
"Bren, this might be a little bit of a shock...but, one of your mother's needles..."
Then he said in one breath, very quickly,
"wentintoyourcheek."

A horrid realization flooded over me
Like Paris Hilton when she realized
someone had discovered her porn tape.

I lifted myself off the floor,
lavender bubble bath oozing down the nape of my neck
and looked in the mirror.

Then promptly gave out a blood-curdling shriek.

"Sorry, Bren..."
My sister's weak vice said behind me.