No comb, no splayed fingers...ya got nothin', evidently.

I don't know if I've mentioned this, but I live with 42 boys. They are required to put in an appearance at breakfast at 7 a.m.

This is, of course, hilarity at its best.

They come downstairs in white t-shirts and swim trunks (boxers aren't allowed), hair pointing every which way, sleep creases from their pillows still on their cheeks. They usually only have one eye open when they mumble that they have made their appearance and will now return to their rooms. Probably to their beds. They stumble into the door jamb.

Then they disappear. They return downstairs in 10 minutes, fully awake, dressed, and on their way out the door to smoke a cigarette. It's a mystery.