Pushing the sneeze button
Last night I got home at 10 ’til 11, chucked my stuff onto a chair in the living room, slid into my pajamas and flopped face-first into bed—a bed that already had a very large husband and a getting-very-large six year old in it. I didn’t care, though—all I needed was a flat surface for my body to lie on. Six and a half hours later when my alarm went off, I slapped my arm onto the snooze and rolled over to nestle my nose into Noah’s hair for one last wee bit of shut-eyed time. His thick, coarse hair was completely bedheaded into the upward cowlick position, and no sooner had I settled with my arm over his body than a lock shot straight up my nostril and make a great sneeze well up inside my head. I didn’t want to sneeze on Noah, so with only had nanoseconds to spare, I rotated my face straight to the ceiling just in time for the sneezplosion. After rocketing upward, millions of tiny sneeze particles paused briefly in midair and then succumbed to gravity, raining down a fine mist of nasal delight on my upturned face. AND A GOOD MORNING TO YOU.
And that is why I am on time to work this morning.