Legpits and General Awkwardness

Stayed up until 1am reading Harry Potter. (Am still 200 pages from end, so there is to be no discussion of anything Potter related until I am finished. Perhaps tomorrow.) Slept peacefully until about 8:30am. This is approximately the time at which Gus realizes that it's a whole new day.

Gus: [wriggles out from under covers, shakes off, begins nosing my chin enthusiastically]
Me: [fake sleep]
Gus: ARRRRRRRRRRR-ew! [loud breathy yawn in my face]
Me: [open one eye] What? [stare at dog]
Gus: [wag, wag, wag, wag, wag, dog smile, pant happily]

Every morning is like the start of a vacation for Gus. It's as though he forgets all of the things that he did yesterday and the world is fresh and new. The backyard is unexplored and unsecured terrain. The neighbors are new, threatening strangers. The toy he left on the floor yesterday is fresh fun.

Me: Gus, go back to sleep. 15 more minutes... (I can't believe I reason with a dog)
Gus: [begins leaping about on the bed] translation: Come on! Come on! It's a whole new day! Let's go!
Me: [fake sleep]
Gus: [leaps off bed, begins scratching on door] Ahrooo! [yelps]
Me: [sit straight up in bed at sound of yelp] Gus!

Gus has managed to entangle himself in the bra that was hanging on the doorknob to dry. His armpit (legpit?) is ensnared by bra strap and his paw remains a few inches off the floor as he struggles and wrestles to set himself free. I am about to lose a good bra. Sigh. I get up, untangle the dog and let him out to explore grounds unknown.

That's when the phone rings. Here's the dilemma there. I haven't spoken to anyone yet this morning, aside from Gus, and I know my voice has that whole just woke up sound to it. I look at the caller ID and it's my principal. Sigh again.

"Hello? Hello?" I practice croaked to test out the sound before I answered. I grabbed the phone.

Me: Hello?
Principal: Hi there! Did I wake you up?
Me: Oh no! No...been up for hours. [push glasses up on nose, straighten pajamas]

Why do we do this? Why is it so bad to have been asleep? Is it embarrassment? I will argue to the death with a caller that I was not asleep. Today, I chose to feign allergies.

Me: Allergies, you know. [cough, cough for effect]
Principal: Are you sure I didn't wake you up?
Me: Nooooooooooo...nonono. I always sound like this....when I have, um...allergies.

Awkward, awkward, awkward. Why must I be such a goober? WHY? And, again, who cares that I was asleep? Well, mostly asleep. Maybe I should've just said, "Actually, I'm awake. Just trying to get my bra off of my dog." 'Cause that's not awkward at all.

So, I finished that conversation (my voice becoming miraculously stronger each minute, I kept throwing in some fake out coughs to keep up the charade). I headed for my computer to check the 'ol email/eBay situation on deck. That's when I found my email faux pas of the week.

I am somewhat notorious for email blunders. The sad thing is that it's the same mistake every time and you'd think I would learn. I actually have gotten much, much better at work since my most recent debacle in which I propositioned my principal for a lunch date.

[Principal emailed my teammate a workshop opportunity that was on a school day. My friend forwarded it to me with a message that said, "Want to go?" I opened the attachment, read it eagerly, hit reply and typed, "YAHOO! Wanna go out to lunch???" Of course, you know what happened next...the message I replied to was the attachment and so my email went to my principal who politely replied that she hadn't planned on attending the workshop with us, but was glad of my enthusiasm.]

So back to today's little indescretion. The other day, my mom sent me some pictures the baby of one of my childhood friends. The pictures were in an attachment. Fabulous. I clicked, I looked, I oohed and ahhed and I replied. So of course by now you know I'm replying to the father of this baby, though I thought I was replying to my mom. There is a big difference between what you will casually type to your mother and what you would type to a friend you grew up next door to, but haven't seen in twenty years. Not realizing the difference, I blithely typed, "Looks like her dad. Is she cross-eyed?"

The baby looked cross-eyed in the pictures! But that's not something you send to the dad! NONONONONO! Retract! Withdraw! Back up the boat! Oh, the humiliation. I didn't realize my error until I found the email from the dad in my inbox this morning that just said, "Who are you?" Thank goodness for married names, he didn't know who I was. But then the next email from him was an automated message that he was recalling the previous email. He had to have figured it out. Oh, dear.

*head hung in shame*