And judging from the rack of neatly folded angora sweaters in my mouth, I'd bet money that the reason I don't remember brushing my teeth is that I totally forgot to brush them.
Good thing I keep toothpaste and a toothbrush in my gym bag. And in my desk drawer.
It's also a good thing I'm in no danger of kissing anyone today.
In other news, I got the last of my 230 Christmas letters (which breezily cover the last 12 months of my life in four pages of single-spaced 10-point Garamond at 83% horizontal scale) folded, stuffed, stamped and mailed this morning. As I was cramming them in the mailbox, I apparently gave myself a nasty paper cut that my hands were too cold to feel. Once I got on the warm train, though, the spigots opened and I—with nary a kleenex in sight—bled all over everything.
And when I got to work, my boss (who'd received an advance copy of the letter) pointed out a typo on the last page. ACK! So I hereby decree that accouunts is now a real word. It's ... you know ... Dutch. Or something.