Well, Will You?

This morning, I got up for my run with only a few hours of sleep under my belt. I always lay my clothes out the night before--that is, scrounge them up and heap them in a pile--in my bathroom so come morning, I can fumble around in a sleepy fog and still get out of the house on time. Because our toilet's wall backs up to Lou's headboard in the other room (not a nice present to leave your husband with an awoken baby at 5 a.m.), the last step before I head out the door is to empty the ol' bladder in the downstairs bathroom. Though sometimes my eyes are too tired to get contacts in them right away so I have to wait until the last minute.

Thus it was that I dragged downstairs, blind but mostly dressed except for my bandanna, which I planned to don while taking care of business. As I sat down, it took me a minute before I realized I was sitting on half of the scarf, and I can't be sure if I pulled it out before I peed. I'm pretty sure. But the end was wet. And, I wore it anyway.

And so the question is: will you still be friends with me?