It's Only 11 a.m.

You ever have those days when you wake up and realize your alarm didn't go off and the only reason why you woke up was the warm sun on your face and a yarling cat trying to get some love? Yeah.
And then you crawl out, worrying about the fact that you're going to be late again to work, and just as you're about to dash into the bathroom for the fastest shower known to man you hear your sister shutting the bathroom door. Twenty minutes later you figure you should probably change up your morning routine and have breakfast before showering because it's like waiting for a pot to boil with her.
After your shower, where you decide you like your hair dirty and tussled today, even though everytime you decide to leave it unwashed you begin to regret it around 2pm, you get dressed in about three variations of what you will eventually wear, ignoring the fact that you are seriously late.
And then your sister gives you a ride, but first she has to google map it, and sit there and wonder about the best route to get to her location after she drops you off at the metro. And makes you listen to Carrie Underwood and deep voiced country boys make awkward jokes about pop culture while she's too busy talking to bother slowing down, so that she can then slam on the brakes and make you wonder if maybe you would have been safer just staying in bed today.
And then the train closes its doors just as you're coming down the escalator trying not to look like an idiot as you run along in heels. The next one doesn't come for 12 minutes, making you even later.
And then the bus decides its going to sit around hoping for last minute stragglers while you impatiently huff and try to ignore the time, that was so easily forgotten earlier.


But at least what you're wearing is colorful, warm, comfortable and stylish enough to make you hope The Sartorialist is in town early for his opening and maybe possibly, hanging out in Rosslyn metro to take your picture.