Opposite Day

Starting from the moment you get out of bed, (on the Opposite side than what you are used to) everything as you know is the exact opposite. Describe your "Opposite" day and how you got back to normal


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Opposite Day

         I had a very difficult time getting out of bed on the opposite side because the wall abuts my bed. However, I was determined to follow the Milkman’s directions. I knew that anyone who was best friends with a cow had to have a thorough understanding of life’s machinations. So, I pushed the bed over with my feet and slid down. I met with a dirty sock. (I hope that’s what it was. I didn’t dare look.) I slithered my way forward in an intimate, silent dance with the wall. (The wall is a rather stiff partner, I must say -- and with no rhythm at all!)

         During this process, the cat bolted off our shared bed, thoroughly upset with my odd mannerisms. She stood in the hallway, peeking around the bend, her eyes glaring balls of irritation. I ignored her. My dance was almost over.

         The waltz ended abruptly; I had reached the end of the bed. On my bare feet I had accumulated a strange collection of fur balls and shoestrings that my cat had at some point in time lost beneath the bed. Therefore, no longer needing house slippers, I stumbled out of my partner's "arms."

          It is very true, Mr. Milkman, morning does look different from the foot of my bed, especially from the left side, probably because I was tangled up in the electric blanket cord and my foot was crying out for oxygen.

         Once disentangled (not easy when the cat kept pouncing on stray cords and the shoe strings caught between my big toe and various others -- most of which were all fluffy with cat fuzz,) I tripped over the cat's tail and made my way across the hall.

         I was headed for the bathroom, my usual first stop for the day, but I knew I couldn’t betray the mighty cause the Milkman had given me. I passed up the toilet room in route for the kitchen, but then I stopped. The kitchen would have been my usual second step in the waking-up cycle. So, therefore, it couldn’t be an opposite direction. I did an about turn and marched into my spare bedroom, a room I rarely entered.

         The cat, watching from her normal perch, snarled at me. She knew things were off to a bad start, or at least they were according to her viewpoint. (She’s very routine-oriented and probably wouldn’t appreciate the finer things in life, like cow pies and tail-switching flyswatters, Milkman.)

         Once I arrived in the spare bedroom and glanced about, I was uncertain how to proceed. The furniture was badly in need of dusting. That was definitely not a typical observation for a Saturday morning when I still hadn’t had my first sip of de-witching juice. I dusted thoroughly, returned the rag and Pledge™ back to its cupboard and ran into the bathroom, no longer able to alter such a normal protocol.

         Feeling considerably better about life, I brushed my teeth. My kitty meowed, quite disgusted that I had not fed her yet. My stomach growled complaints as well. It was obvious that neither of our hunger meters were favorably impressed with Opposite Day.

         My face washed, my clothes pulled on in strange distorted manners -- which meant inside out, of course -- I felt that I had tortured myself, I mean, suitably acquitted myself enough and could with all diligence to oppositional procedure, brew my wakefulness injection. Therefore, I walked backward into the kitchen, kibbled the cat, grabbed my coffeepot and started the washing machine. Yet, when the washing machine water had filled my pot, I began to doubt that water’s potability. I imagined old and copper-rusted pipes being the source of washing machine water, so I watered the potted plants in the front yard with my coffee water. Certainly watering was far different than my normal Saturday progress. Was it opposite? Seemed so to me!

         A neighbor came by while I was walking on my hands, my legs wagging pathetically in imbalance. The lady’s dog began to bark at my odd behavior. Granted I wasn’t skilled at the headstand, but the woman’s abrupt departure without a “hello” was rather insulting. (And her poor dog was almost strangled when she bolted away so quickly!)

         I managed not to drop the coffee pot and returned to my kitchen. Due to my inability to function in the upside down mode and the fact that my hands were tired, I reversed myself and allowed my legs to transport me to the coffee locale. I then conventionally poured water into the pot and started my machine up. Of course, I used no coffee grounds because logically the opposite to putting something in is not putting it in.

         I stuck bread in the toaster but didn’t press it down. Then I decided that the margarine I had gotten out of the refrigerator wasn’t opposite, so I put catsup and mustard on the bread with a couple of pickles and a slice of cheese. The sandwich wasn’t much of a breakfast, and I discovered that I distinctly dislike pickles before having coffee.

         To add injury to oppositeness, my cup of coffee was tasteless! Not even the addition of sweetener helped it, although I believe it tasted better than when I added the grapefruit-flavored Crystal Light™ to it later on. Sigh.

         Thoroughly disgusted with my opposite-breakfast, I checked my mail (which doesn’t come until the afternoon,) left my morning newspaper on the wet lawn and went back to bed. That was certainly an opposite thing to do on a beautiful Saturday morning!

         Crawling in past the soft, fuzzy thing that I still hoped was only a dirty sock, I slid myself into the envelope of bed and wall, snuggled under the blanket, my head at the foot, my feet on the pillows and snored happily. Kitty, content with this procedure, followed suit.

         Frankly, both my cat and I agree: the last part of this progression was the best piece of Opposite Day!


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