I’m relying on this slightly seductive “Morning After” title to lure in my kinda naughty readers with slightly “guttered” minds. These viewers only drop by when I illude to semi-alluring things like my legs or if the main picture involves my undergarments. The click over might not be entirely worth it this time, but in does involve an ice cream truck that isn’t creepy (which is always a good thing.)
The morning after I’m talking about is the morning after a day you shoveled snow from your massive driveway, the morning after you’ve severely mixed up your exercise routine via running extreme intervals, or the morning after you were slightly intoxicated and slept on a cement basement floor (or so I’ve heard.) Daily functions are a challenge during all of these “morning afters,” but my personal favorite is the stiff soreness that occurs after number two. It takes a lot to make me sore and slow me down, but when it happens I get a smug sense of accomplishment. My brain says, “Ha!..Body! Found where you need work!!”
This smug feeling makes hoisting yourself out of bed, peeling off your pajamas, limping into the shower (if morning showers are your thing,) gingerly getting in and out of your car, staggering across the massive parking lot (it takes a good five strides to begin walking like a halfway normal person,) straining to open a 2-ton door, suffering up two flights of stairs and sinking into your office chair almost completely worth it. And if I’m going to feel like I got hit by a truck…it’s not going to be a huge 18-wheeler like the kind my dad drives. That would be fatal. I want it to be an ice cream truck. One that, instead of blaring creepy carnival music plays smooth jazz, to give inner city kids a little bit of culture.
(Told you there was an ice cream truck.)