Getting dressed in the morning + not putting the light on so as not to wake Husband = not noticing the greasy splodges on your shirt that didn't come out in the wash following a badly-executed egg frying session.
Having greasy splodges on your shirt from badly-executed egg frying session + passing the mirror in the hall just before you walk out of the front door already rushing for bus = beginnings of panic.
Running upstairs to change greasy-splodge shirt for new one + being in a hurry + finding out as you run upstairs about the dragging hem on your trousers = full establishment of panic (+ missed early bus)
Trying to put new shirt and trousers on + attempting not to make any noise and wake husband + creaky wardrobe doors + particularly clangy clothes-hangers = realisation that if someone were filming this ... move over Laurel and Hardy, you have a new rival.
Running down the road for the next bus + suddenly noticing that the replacement trousers have evidence of chocolate consumption in the form of little brown splodges all down the left thigh + trying to rub off this evidence while hopping along = very strange looks from passers-by who think you must have cramp.
Arriving at bus stop JUST as bus turns up + not being able to find bus ticket which you normally have ready + bus driver who is getting annoyed + twenty-seven passengers who would rather get to work than watch you search your handbag = face the colour of a Nile sunset.
All of the above + getting to work late = bad start to day = subsequent decision to eat three square metres of flapjack at coffee break.
Three square metres of flapjack at coffee break + coffee with sugar + diet = epic fail but best feeling of the day so far.