Story has been edited as of 02/01/2014

Fun fact about me: I'm not a light sleeper.

So when my alarm clock rang, I probably turned it off in my sleep or some shit like that.

In my defense, I was dreaming about Megan Fox x12 and how hot is that?

Stop looking at me like that, Megan Fox is drop dead gorgeous and we all know it… But that's beside the point.

Maybe I didn't even want to hear that alarm clock, I mean, who likes going to hell – I mean high school? Nobody's expecting me there anyways; I'm the king of invisibility. I'm under Harry Potter's clock of invisibility for life.

Hell, my mom doesn't even notice me sometimes. If she did, she probably would have woken me up by now.

The only silver lining is my twin brother, Alfred. Who notices me maybe 90% of the time? In the other 10%, he's either too turnt up to remember, or just plain forgetful.

Still half-asleep, I turned my head to the right to check the time on my alarm clock. I'm probably not that late, am I?

In big red letters, the clock read: "10:30"

Well… Shit.

Now wide awake, I struggled to throw off the comforter I was under after just gaping at my clock for a minute or two. After successfully tossing them aside – remind me not to tuck in my blankets again – I got up, dashed straight to the bathroom, and hopped in for a shower.

Which isn't the best idea since I'm already an hour and a half late for school, but why the hell not? Personal hygiene meant a lot to me! (maybe if I smelled good people would notice me more Imeanwhat)

After taking my 15 minute shower, I dashed to my room, throwing on whatever wasn't in the laundry. I'm that weird kid that smelled good, but didn't really dress well.

I gave myself a quick check in the mirror, to see if I at least looked decent. And I did, faded blue jeans and a red hooded sweater with the word "Canada" on it was my normal look.

So I don't have the best sense of style, sue me.

I grabbed my backpack, wondering if I actually did my homework or not while charging down the stairs. The aroma of pancakes filled my nostrils.

I walked towards the scent of the pancakes, leading me to the kitchen. Upon entering the room I saw my mom: Emilia Jones; who was cooking in the kitchen.

Before you get confused, even though my mom's maiden name is Jones, I decided to keep my dad's last name when they got divorced. It's a long story you probably don't want to hear, so let's not get into details.

"Hey mom" I said absently, "How's it going?" At this point I really didn't care however, I just wanted some pancakes.

"Good morning sweetie!" She replied, flipping a pancake over before facing me, "why are you so dressed up today? Meeting someone?"

I blinked. "Mom, its Friday… I'm going to school." I said slowly, and then added as an afterthought, "Why didn't you wake me up earlier?"

A pause, and then…

"Matthew, are you sick?" She asked, placing her hand on my forehead.

Huh?

"No…" I answered slowly, "Are you…?"

She suddenly burst out laughing, leaving me confused. I just wanted to get some pancakes and go to school, why was she being so difficult?

"Wow, you really are sick if you think today's Friday." She said, turning her attention back to the pancakes, still chuckling. "It's Saturday today."

Wait…

WAIT…

WHAT THE FUCK?

"Uh…" was all that came out of my mouth. I didn't want to swear around my mom, but I was thinking very colorful words right now.

Shit fuck ass fucking hell dick fuck shit crappy shitty ass motherfucking I can't even

"Don't believe me? Check the news!" She gestured with her free hand to the family room. I warily nodded before heading in the room chanting in my head: Please don't tell me it's Saturday.

As I walked down the hall to the family room, I could hear someone saying "But Artie! Ugh, fine."

Fuck, that better not be Alfred.

Oh who the fuck am I kidding, who else would be here?

I marched inside the family room, horror on my face when it was confirmed that yes, Alfred was sitting right there and no, I'm not dreaming.

Grabbing the remote, I changed the channel to the news. And there it was, in tiny letters: Saturday, 9th of March, 2013.

Well supersize my fries and call me Alfred. It really was a Saturday.

Fuck.

Ignoring Alfred's "Dude, why are you dressed up today?" I walked back to the kitchen and ate my sorrows away with pancakes.

Good way to start the morning.