Tag you're it.

My wife and I play this game in the morning when I leave for work, its called the email me game. The way it works is after I get ready for work and as Teri waits for our son to finish getting ready so she can drop him off at the bus-stop before finishing getting ready herself, she comes out and says goodbye to me. The crux of the game is just before I am ready to leave, we try to tell each other to "email me" before the other does. We have kind of developed some rules for it, like we have to be in the living room and I have to be all ready for work, but the fun of it is to see who remembers first in the morning.

Well for the last several days, Ter has not been as forgetful as I have and she has been getting it out first, and I have had the chore of sending the first email of the day (since Teri and I try to email each other at least a couple of times each day). Yesterday, as I was tired, I flippantly sent her an email with the sentence, "Tag you're it." as the only thing in the email. Well today, as Teri again won our competition, she had the nerve to say, "...and no short little emails like yesterday."

Of course this meant I had to do something dramatic and so I sent her this email that I am going to share with everyone here.

The morning started off clear and sunny, bright like a flashlight
stabbing its light onto your face over and over. I tumbled out of bed and
bleary-eyed started my morning ritual; thankful that I had made it
through to see another day, but somewhere deep inside wishing that the
peacefulness of the night had not ended. After letting the heat of the
shower wash away the last vestiges of sleep and the aches and pains of my
tired body, I dragged myself through the front door, giving my long
suffering wife a quick peck and a knowing look. As I left the house, I
discovered that my old jalopy of a car had made it through the night
without the punks or petty thieves that inhabitted our city discovering it
and making off with my unreliable mode of transportation. Muttering a
quick prayer to fate and whatever gods protected sleepy-eyed morning
workers, I managed to coax another days worth of transportation out of my
four-wheeled vehicle. I dodged through the early hour traffic,
wondering how so many people could actually manage to drive their cars while
still asleep. Mumbling curses as I followed two cars whose drivers
travelled the streets with their tailpipes fused together, never allowing
my poor abused car to nudge through, I arrived at the mile long, black
asphalt covered desert plain that was sarcastically called the parking
lot of my building. Nerving myself for the smiling faces and crisp
"hellos" of the bored security guards who pretended to protect our empty
buildings during the wee hours of the morning while secretly playing
endless games of solitaire on their humming PCs, I dodged into the elevator
for a quick trip up to the 6th floor and my office - the 6th door on
the left - and my desk the 6th one. I sat down in front of my computer,
a yawn escaping as I slid behind the instrument of my daily torture and
plugged into the phone system that measured the pace of my daily
discomfiture. A quick glance into my morning breakfast bag found me wolfing
down the food that would fuel my quest to earn my measley pittance of a
salary. I slowly eased my way into the applications that were
Microsoft's gift to the fall of Western civilization, and decided to enliven my
wife's drab and dreary morning with a cheerful email - "How the hell
are you?" I typed into an electronic missive and hit send.