Life doesn’t always hand you breakfast biscuits.

It’s 5:30 in the morning and I’m feeling WHINY today. I woke up with low blood sugar but didn’t know it at the time, so like an idiot I decide wouldn’t it feel great to enjoy a big rush of hot water and some nice-smelling soap. By the time I finally realize what’s going on, however, I’m sitting in the shower feeling whacked-out, blurry, wobbly and nuts. (These are all legitimate medical symptoms of hypoglycemia.)

In case you’re interested, we have a fantastic marble sit-down bench in the shower in our master bathroom and it’s the coolest goddamn thing I’ve ever owned not counting my first Macintosh.

So when I get out of the shower I zone out for a while on the vanity stool watching my hair dry and that’s when I realize my blood sugar is low — VERY VERY LOW — and begin formulating a plan of action to accomplish all of the following. Trust me, with hypoglycemia the longer you wait, the harder it gets.

1. Stand up.
2. Walk to the bathroom door and turn out the light.
3. Look for my slippers in the bedroom. I think they’re under the bench at the foot of the bed.
4. Leave the bedroom without banging into anything so I don’t wake Sam. Close the door halfway because we always just close it only halfway.
5. Grab my black zipper diabetes bag (don’t ask) from the console table in the hall.
6. Drag myself into the study.
7. DON’T TRIP ON THE LAUNDRY BASKET.
8. Turn on the light.
9. Test my blood sugar.
10. Drink things in little cold bottles from the mini fridge.

The results? I knocked out 1 through 9 in record time and I’m currently hard at work on number 10 as I write this post. It’s a Coke Zero. And I even remembered to take my 5 a.m. dose of hydrocodone. NARCOTICS = A LOT OF HAPPINESS.

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Here’s a weird news story that’s worthy of a Howdygram Einstein Award: MITT ROMNEY AND EVANDER HOLYFIELD WILL FACE EACH OTHER IN A BOXING MATCH. What the fuck?

The former GOP presidential nominee and full-time entitled asshole will step into the ring to fight boxer Evander Holyfield on May 15 as part of a fundraising event for Charity Vision, a Mormon organization that pays for thousands of eye surgeries in developing countries. Romney quipped that the fight will “either be very short ... or I’ll be knocked unconscious. It won't be much of a fight. We’ll both suit up and get in the ring and spar around a little bit.”

This will NOT be a typical boxing match, however, because there will be no riff-raff or sweating allowed. Romney’s son Josh — an entitled asshole in his own right — says it’s black-tie only and patterned after a 1920s financial orgy for the 1 percent with ticket prices ranging from $25,000 to $250,000 per person. And as a bonus you get to see his dad’s actual nipples.

Aside from the nipples issue and wondering if we’ll get to view any magic Mormon underwear, the event promises to be a classic show of Mitt Romney awkwardness. First, boxers don’t “suit up,” and second, they either “spar” or “move around.” They DO NOT “spar around.” And it’s also pretty amusing that The Great White Einstein is apparently willing to get beaten up by another black man.

In 1998 former GOP senator and presidential candidate Robert Dole did TV and magazine ads for Pfizer’s popular boner pills, Viagra. It’s possible that celebrity boxing will turn out to be one of the better second career choices for Republican losers.

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At the tone the time will be 7:15 a.m. — CLANG! — and it’s my sincere wish that Sam will be awake very soon because I wouldn’t mind some company. After we hang out in the study for a while we’re doing medical crap together later this morning. Sam will take me to my 9:30 appointment with the cardiologist in Rockwall and an 11:15 for a Coumadin blood test at Baylor Hospital’s clinic in Mesquite. I’d rather stay home with a couple of William Powell movies, but what the hell. Life doesn’t always hand you breakfast biscuits.

Thank you for reading this.