DANGERPANTS!

Every silver lining is darkest just before the other shoe drops. Or something.

I sprang from my bed this morning like one of the more limber cast members of Cirque du Soleil. I felt rested and fresh.

I made what was arguably the best vacuum-pot of coffee I have tasted in years.

I had an absolutely perfect shave, making my head and face as smooth as a newborn dolphin’s belly while managing to spare myself even a single nick, and leaving 100,000 follicles as cozy and content as 100,000 chubby Midwesterners enrobed in Snuggies.

My favorite argyle socks fit absolutely wonderfully, as though woven around my feet by some sort of magic sockmaking elves from one of the more obscure Scandinavian fairy tales. The cuff of my denim hit my shoe with nary a break, in that just-too-perfect way that catalog photographers would fuss over for hours before shooting a frame.

My normal three minute commute to the museum was free of even the yellowest of traffic lights, and I parked my little car in the very front spot closest to the staff entrance - another rarity.

The normally surly security staff greeted me with a smile and a chorus of “Have a good day!” that was so perfectly enunciated and genuine that it would have brought even the stodgiest of audiences at the Royal Albert Hall to their feet with delirious applause.

I walked the corridors to my department, whistling a tune so chirpy that I half expected a chorus of animated Disney wildlife to appear and chime in.

I sit here now, reflecting on my morning so far, and I have but one conclusion.

Something very, very bad is about to happen.