Yesterday morning, I bounded out of my bed, took a long look in the mirror (word to Michael Jackson), and said 'What's up?' After all, I'm on break until Summer I starts in a couple of weeks. Last night, I got home from the gym pretty late, but just in time to see the Magic upset the Cavs. My swagger was at 1.9 trillion. I turned on the stereo in the garage, got me some strawberry Fanta, and they started playing some sick jawns on the local hip-hop station. I was jerking with no hands, mastered my Rack Daddy x Frankie x Ricky Bobby, and even segued into a swag surf. It was just me, the dim light in the garage, my headphones plugged into the stereo system, and visions of spending time with my girl this weekend.
Then it happened.
At 2:30 A.M., this lady storms downstairs in her nightclothes, and in broken English / Spanish, says: "What the @%$# are you still doing up? Go to @#$%@(( bed." I started to tell her that I'm on summer break, but I didn't want to get smashed in the face (for probably and literally the 96th time in my evanescent life) with those nefarious chancletas.
My swagger instantaneously dropped to -21. I now have to work harder than ever if I want to succeed this 'swag season.'