I don't know what position I have been sleeping in lately that has resulted in this, but every morning I wake up with my hair sticking at least 4 inches from my head. It's like a cross between televangelist hair and a raggedy Southern girl poof.
This morning, I roll out of bed like a zombie and walk into the hallway, where Brad is tying his tie and looking all handsome getting ready for work. The door to our spare room is open, and I can see a large pile of clean laundry on the bed. I point to it.
K: "Oh my god, laundry mountain!"
Brad: "Whatever, James Brown on a cross-country crack spree."