Boag

The alarm goes off.
It's morning.
I slowly feel the urgency of getting out of my blanket cocoon to get to work on time.
Not pleasant.
Not like a kick in the dick "not pleasant", but more like somebody rubbing mud on the back of your heal "not pleasant". And why would you rub mud on somebody's heal? Not cool, dude.
So I shower, and my eyes try to open, but they can't.
I'm tired.

I slide into my clothing.
The cold makes the skin on my legs tighten and the hair on my thighs reaches out for some warmth.

It's dark.
I don't want to disturb my wife.
Even though she's already awake.
I'm not awake yet.
I kiss her and I feel lucky that my lips found her lips.
My eyes are resisting believing that we're awake yet.
They stay semi-shut in protest of the morning.

I go into the world.
I must eat breakfast.
I must make lunch.
My wife is almost finished with my lunch.
I grab my breakfast soda.
I grab my breakfast bagel.
I grab my mid-morning granola bar.
I kiss my wife.
I hug my 10-year-old. **Time out. He's not 9 anymore!! That's kinda cool! Time in**
I get in the car and turn on NPR.

The world is black with night still.
The sun doesn't want to get up just like I didn't want to get up.
I don't blame it.
I grab my bagel and bite it.
NPR is saying something abou...
Why does my mouth taste like rug?
...ruggy mold...?
...mold...?
my mouth tastes like mold.

oh god.

soda can pops.
swig!
get that fucking taste out!
oh, shit, it's on the bagel, which is getting stuck in my teeth and latching on to my tongue. in those hard to reach areas.

I swish the soda around as best I can, trying to rid myself of the taste of Bagel Gone Bad.
And I succeed.
Until my tongue finds another errant piece of bagel hiding under my tongue.
In my molar.
Stuck to the roof of my mouth.
At which point I have a crumb of a reminder that I have mold in my mouth, at which point, the Soda Mouth Wash gets used again.

I try to calm myself.
"It's just a little penicillin. I'm fine. If anything, I'm healthier now."
And my stomach wants to be upset.
It's trying to be upset.
But it knows that there's really nothing wrong with the mold.
It just tastes like dog fur. Moldy dog fur.

I get to work and eye the bagel.
A large bite has been taken from the bagel. All the way to the center hole.
About half of the bagel is gone.
And still, I can see some of the mold that I didn't eat.
My best guess: quarter-sized to half-dollar sized circle of mold at the center of the bagel that was almost completely consumed by my morning mouth.

My first thought:
"Boag."
My second thought:
"I gotta tell my wife about this."