It was a sunny summer morning, a Monday morning, to be precise.  I had just finished walking the dog and found myself with twenty extra minutes to spare before beginning my commute.  I suppose it was the fact that for once I did not touch the snooze button, but rather, got out of bed exactly when my phone commanded me to.

Gifted with this sudden luxury of time, I recalled how many successful world leaders had morning rituals of meditation, visualization, or affirmations that set the tone for their days.  I seized their spirit and invested my extra minutes into frothing my cappuccino to perfection, and mindfully sprinkling cinnamon freckles on top.

Even with that feat accomplished, I had some remaining time.  I felt like indulging.  Surely I deserved it after waking up unusually early and getting the redhead basset into bikini-ready shape.  The sun was streaming in through the kitchen window, and I sheepishly looked at him lying on the tiled floor.  “Go ahead, I won’t judge,” his giant brown eyes said.  Or they could have been asking “When’s lunch?”  Either way, I took it all as a green light and opened the kitchen door to the deck.

There in all its morning glory was a magnificent tan hulking specimen.  Smooth and perfectly golden.  Surrounded by six equally sublime companions.  I gawked, unable to take my eyes away, fully aware I was letting my baser desires take over.

They looked as young and shiny as the day they arrived in my home many years ago.  All my sins magically erased.  As they let themselves be stroked, I recalled all the drunken nights of spilled red wine and melted candles.  No evidence remaining.   Oh, my deck table and chairs, freshly pressure washed and stained by my own hands.

I took a step back toward the house, careful to not slip in my leopard-print sling backs, and sipped my coffee.  The wood glistened brightly in the sunlight.   I was worthy after all, as Oprah had always said.  I heard a creaking door, but before I could quickly run back inside, a cry came at me, ”Busted!”  My neighbor M. poked his head out of his back door and grinned.  The only thing worse than doing actual home repair is being caught being impressed with yourself at seven a.m. on a Monday.  I’m hiring someone next time.