Dimming Of The Day

I fell out of bed as the alarm clock sang its shrill song,
and I broke the strap of my favorite bra
when it got caught in my foot as I desperately made
my way into the bathroom to accidentally sit inside the toilet
(goddamn stupid men) for my early morning requirements,
and I figured that this was as bad as it was going to get.

When I jumped into the shower, I slipped on the slip-resistant mat,
and banged my head on the soap dish.  I ran out of shaving cream
half way through shaving, so my ancient razor blade sliced and diced my legs,
and then I got Herbal Essence shampoo in my eyes.
I was moaning and groaning, just like the commercial, but not from pleasure.
Half-blind, I stumbled from the shower in search of a towel, when
I realized that they were all sitting, sopping wet, in the washing machine,
and I figured that this was as bad as it was going to get.

Later, I was air drying at my vanity, when I spilled my
Olay Age Defying Revitalizing Eye Gel all over the counter, so,
extra wrinkles now complimented my soap induced blood-shot red eyes.
I plucked my eyebrows unevenly, stabbed my already sensitive eye
with my mascara wand, burned my ear with the curling iron,
and I figured that this was as bad as it was going to get.

The dry cleaners didn’t get the coffee stain out of my white silk blouse,
and everything else I own was dirty, so I dug out an old black dress
I wore to a funeral five years ago, but when I was zipping it up, I
pinched my skin in the zipper, and, thrashing about while trying to unzip myself,
the hem of my dress caught on a wrought iron curlicue and tore it right up to my bum,
and I figured that this was as bad as it was going to get.

My only pair of panty hose had a run, and I lost my left black high-heeled shoe. 

Then my blind date showed up five minutes early, and I slammed my head
-- again -- on the edge of the counter, when I stood up from trying to find
the backing of my earring that I dropped when the doorbell surprised me.
A little woozy from all the head bashing, I nearly fell as I made my way down the stairs,
and I figured this was as bad as it was going to get.

When I finally made it to the door, it opened to one of the ugliest men I have ever seen
-- so much for Internet dating --
with a mousey looking face and lanky brown hair, brushed over a large bald spot,
whose ratty tweed jacket with brown elbow patches clashed horribly with his red plaid shirt.
The mouse was presenting me with a bouquet of wilted yellow daisies,
and gesturing to a hideous, old, multicolored car as he lecherously eyed me up and down,
and I realized that this wasn’t as bad as it was going to get.