One fuzzy moment or should I say foamy

Let me preface this post by stating that I LOVE sleeping. Some of you may have picked that up from prior posts but nothing is as perfect to me as a good night’s sleep or a deep nap after a busy day. I have perfected the art of sleeping. I know the perfect temperature for ultimate slumber, the right consistency of the pillow, as well as the perfect temperature of the pillow that is directly touching my skin.

Due to this obsession with sleeping I have taught my body to stay in the state of sleep for long periods of time even with interruptions or distractions. Planes, trains, automobiles? No problem I can sleep through them. Storms, gale force winds, tornadoes? Sleeping like a baby. One side-effect of this talent is that I can have entire conversations with someone while I am in the sleep/conscious state and not remember it the next day. I can also awake from a deep, way past REM, sleep and be in a dream-like state that hinders my ability to have lucid thoughts.

I was a victim of this state this exact morning. I awoke on my own accord at 6 am and rejoiced that I had yet another hour of blissful sleep before my alarm (which sounds to me like the most annoying noise in the world from Dumb and Dumber) jostled me from my slumber. I quickly rolled back over and returned to my dreams. One hour later, and many idyllic minutes of unconsciousness later, I was shaken awake by the cacophonous jangle of the alarm. I rose and headed to the shower.

Now when I first awake there are two alternatives that my mind may partake of. The instant switching on of my brain, as if it were a light switch. Or the sputtering, rumbling, slow waking up on individual synapses much like a beat up car with no gas, trying to start but only turning over but never catching. There are only those extremes, no middle ground here.

Today was a old Buick day. I arose and stumbled to the shower where I opened the door and stared. Blinking my mind could not comprehend the sight that was coming into focus. Somehow, sometime during the night a monster from under my bed had crawled into my shower and burped up a massive amount of baby pink foam. It trailed down the side of the shower and pooled in the corner. My mind half expected it to reach up and envelop me in its cotton candy foaminess (much like the “stuff” from the 1985 B-movie classic “The Stuff”)

(We now interrupt this blog with some mindless background information. Don’t even ask when or how I saw this movie but it is burned into my head. Mostly because there is an old woman in a restaurant who asks “Where’s the stuff?” much like the old woman in the Wendy’s commercials with “Where’s the beef?” Here is the plot summary: Weird yummy goo erupts from the earth and is discovered by a couple of miners. They taste it and decide to market it because it tastes so good. The American public literally eats up the new dessert known as The Stuff but, unfortunately, it takes over the brains of those who eat it, turning them into zombie-like creatures. It is up to ex-FBI agent David Rutherford and a kid named Jason to stop the spread of the mind-devouring dessert.)

We now return you to your original programming.

So I’m trying to comprehend how this pink fluff/goo ended up in my shower and better yet what I should do about it. Is there a toxic spill here in my shower in the country? Has my shampoo and conditioner somehow interacted with the well water to form a new chemical property?

And yes I know you’re asking yourself how, if my brain is not entirely functioning at this point, my mind can race through these thoughts so quickly. One side-effect of the brain not fully functioning in the morning is that the parts of my brain that are dormant seem to wake up and have a party, so I have thoughts but not lucid or rational ones (this would be my demented brain taking over for the logical brain that I possess in normal situations.

So my brain was fighting for the coherent part to take control and I noticed that the pink foam was emanating from an old canister of shaving gel. Somehow the metal can had burst forth and erupted shaving gel in its foam state into my shower. Seeing that the foam was harmless and would not burn off my skin or infect me with an alien being I sprayed it down the drain with my nifty bendable shower head.

Now that I am in my right mind I ponder exactly how a can could break and spew shaving cream. Did it rust? Was the barometric pressure so great in my house that it imploded? Or was this the work of a more sinister force?

Oh well that was my morning.