For purposes of reference, the bus stop I use to get to work is about a 10-12 minute walk from my house and my bus arrives at 7:40, prompt. After yesterday’s bus-missing debacle, I was determined to make it to my stop on time this morning, so I set my alarm for the ungodly hour of 6:45 am.
I woke up at 7:26.
For years, I didn’t even use an alarm clock, much less oversleep one. And yet, there I was, hopping around my bedroom on one foot, digging through piles of laundry for something that passes for matching, running my fingers through my hair, and racing out the door, breathless and clutching a plastic bag that I’d rescued from my bedroom floor and stuffed with my toothbrush, toothpaste, lunch, and a cereal bar.
I ran and ran and ran.
And I made it to the stop with three minutes to spare.
Out of breath and out of shape, I collapsed on the curb to reduce my chance of heart failure and to dig through the plastic bag for my toothpaste, with the intention of doing some sort of no-water-finger-brush trick.
But when I opened my plastic bag, I discovered that this was not, in fact, the bag that I used for my lunch yesterday.
It was, in fact, the bag that I used to sweep up all of my hair when I cut it on Friday.
And the hair was still in there.
All over my lunch. All over my cereal bar. All over my toothbrush.
And I must have been a sight at 7:40 in the morning, in my thrift store skirt and wrinkled sweater, my bed-head hair and my crumpled plastic bag, sitting on the curb and laughing so hard that, from a distance, it could have been mistaken for sobbing.
I am officially a hot mess.
And there was no trash can in sight, so I was forced to board the bus to work while clutching a plastic bag full of hair. Hair, that is, and whatever shred of dignity I may have had left.