In your haste to get ready for work in the morning, have you ever put your shoes on before your pants and then stared blankly at yourself in your skivvies wondering what was amiss?
Then, you obviously have never had children or been exposed to the sleep depravation that accompanies that wonderful, yet life-altering decision.
While it has been awhile since I pulled an all-nighter with a screaming infant, I have not forgotten the experience. It can make you a little cuckoo.
I was reminded of that two nights ago when, of all things, our two kittens came into heat simultaneously. We rescued the kittens from the local animal shelter half a dozen months ago. Wanting to keep the sisters together, we decided to bring them both home and they have since settled nicely into our humble abode.
That is, until the other evening when one of the cats started yowling like it was being slammed in a car door. By the end of the night, I seriously wanted to slam it in a car door, along with my head.
For eight straight hours this cat wouldn't shut up. To make matters worse, the next night, the second cat chimed in - creating an obnoxious chorus that sounded like a frog being tortured at a Waylon Jennings concert.
Don't ask me how I know what that sounds like - but trust me, it ain't pleasant.
Anyway, come to find out felines reach kitty-womanhood at between 4-6 months, which is a prime time to have them spayed.
Now, if I could just get animal rights activist Bob Barker to help with the $300 bill, life will be grand.
I can still hear Barker's famous sign-off at the end of every Price is Right episode: "Help control the pet population. Have your pets spayed or neutered."
Easy for him to say - I could have a round-trip ticket to Barbados for what this will cost.
In reality, I would have paid twice that for a few hours sleep last night. After attempting to drift off with my head pinned between the pillow and mattress for the better part of eight hours, I could take no more.
I flung the sheets, grabbed the wailing orange balls of fluff at the end of the bed, stomped down the stairs and shoved them in the upright freezer.
Whahaha, whahhahaha ... I cackled on my way back up the stairs.
Oh, don't have the big one, Barker - of course I'm kidding.
Not that the thought didn't enter my mind.
Instead, I stared blurry-eyed at the ceiling with my ears bleeding until it was time to come to work in my underwear.
John Gereau is managing editor of Denton Publications. He can be reached anytime, day or night, at firstname.lastname@example.org.