Start as You Mean to Finish

Like so many other days, Monday starts full of promise.
The alarm, for instance, goes off in a convincing fashion, redolent with assurances of timely buses and the congeniality of my fellow commuters.
I practically spring from my bed, dance lightly across the chilly floor, a picture of pre-dawn grace.
And muscle tone.  Definitely muscle tone.
I congratulate myself on my cleverness in having laid out my clothes the night before.  Early-morning Pearl is a somewhat handicapped individual, slow on the uptake and prone to breathing through her mouth.  Early-morning Pearl has a dull-eyed approach to corporate fashion.  Luckily, Late-Night Pearl knows this and in her foresight has today’s work costume all stacked up, from trousers to blouse all the way down to socks and undies.
I stand back and nod, approving of myself in that manner I like so much.  I decide that I will enjoy reliving this moment later in the day and write a quick note, affixing it to the fridge with my newly acquired T Rex magnet:  Good job, Pearl!
I’ll know what I’m talking about.
I navigate my way down the two flights of outdoor stairs, stairs that have thoughtlessly grown icy overnight.  Yoga bag, lunch bag, purse all bounce off my back as I step into the darkened street, looking this way and then that.  The street is mine, and I grin to myself in the darkness.
“Monday morning was the beginning of the rest of her life, and something in her knew this.”
The bus arrives on time, the line at Starbucks is reasonable, and after almost two full weeks on the Adkins, I’m beginning to suspect that my pants are just a wee bit looser than they used to be.
The sun rises.  Facebook confirms an evil ex-boyfriend’s fall from grace.  News from my editor comes:  The Second Book of Pearl is ready for a last look before it goes to print. 
I am one self-satisfied SOB.
“Hey.”
I look up from my screen.  One of the guys from Facilities is standing at my desk.
“You havin’ a hard day?”
I frown at him, one of many indications that I am confused.  “What?  No,” I say, shaking my head.  “Why?”
“Your sweater,” he says, pointing.  “It’s on inside out.  Did you turn it inside out because of the stain?”
I look down.  Not only is my sweater on inside out, but there appears to be some sort of pureed food item down the front of it.  What is that?  Squash?  Holy Hannah, when’s the last time I had squash?
I pull the front of the sweater up, give it a quick sniff.  Hmm.  Actually, sniffing the stain doesn’t help, but it doesn’t hurt, either, so I pull the sweater off, turn it right-side out, and put it back on.
No visible stain.
Some days are just better than others.
  MAN but Monday was a good day.