It was 6:32 in the morning when a young Paul McCartney reached his arm sleepily from outside his covers, searching about the night-stand trying to kill the annoying buzzing noise his alarm clock was making. Apparantly, his reached was too far fetched, for Paul then fell out of his bed with an "UMPH!", bumping his head on the floor, and shaking the night table just enough so that the alarm clock (which was procariously angled just over the ledge) fell of the stand and hit McCartney in the head with a "DOING!".

"Oi..." Paul moaned tiredly as he rubbed his now swollen head. As he began swearing under his breath, Paul stood up, kicked the alarm clock, and walked over the the bathroom mirror.

He took a look in the mirror, bright hazel eyes a bit blurry and tired, and examined himself. His childlike face was tired and a bit rugged from tossing around in his sleep and what not. First he rubbed his eyebrows back into shape, and then searched for the toothbrush.

"*GARGLE, GARGLE, GARGLE* pfffft!" After he had succesfully cleaned his teath, he got a handful of water and dowsed his soft, slightly freckled face with it. Paul then grabbed the comb and parted his dark brown hair like he usually did.

"Now," Paul said, a bit more awake, "For the uniform...oh, joy," he said sarcastically.

He first took off his pajama bottoms to reveal a pair of briefs that were quickly covered over by his cacky pants. He then removed his shirt that was worn over his white tank top to reveal his slender, fit upper exterior, and placed over it a dark-blue shirt with a colorful emblem marked with a "B" for Burstol High School.

Quickly then, Paul laced on his shoes, took a quick look in the full-length mirror on the inside of his door, slung his backpack on over his right shoulder, winked at himself, and lept out the room.

He ran downstairs to front door and looked out the window before he left just to simply admire the view of the outside world. Just before he'd officially set out on his merry way, his ears came across a shrill...

"Oh, JAAAAAAAAAAMES"

"Ugh," Paul sighed. "Wot, Mum?!"

"You fugot yeh lunch, luv", Paul's mother chirped sweetly as she scurried over to her not-so-little boy- who now towered over her by about five inches-with an overstuffed lunch bag held in her little hand.

"There you are, dear," Mrs. McCartney said sweetly as she handed him his lunch.

"I packed yeh fav'rite: Tyuna fish and pepper chips."

"Sounds...great, Mum," Paul lied through clenched teeth and a phony smile.

"Oh, anything for me li'l Jimmy," Paul's mother cooed as she sloppily kissed her son on the cheek.

"Y'IiIcCkK," Paul squealed as he wiped the saliva from his cheek.

"Mum," Paul moaned, " I told ya I hate that name!"

"It's a fine name, James-Paul McCartney, and you'll wear it proudly," his mother scolded.

"Fine, fine-but when there's othehs around, could ya just stick ta 'Paul'? " Paul pleaded.

"Oh, alroight," Mrs. McCartney replied blatanly, "but...yeh'll always be me little Jimmy," she added, pinching her son tightly on the cheek.

"MUM!!" Paul whined, "I'm gonna be late feh class!"

"Right! Sorry, lovey. Now, you go on ahead and 'ave a great day, sweet'art," she said with a kiss.

"Thanks, Mum. Ta tah!" Paul said with a leap, running out the door at the speed of light.

"So long, dear," Mrs. McCartney said quietly to herself, watching her little boy run down the block: Just before rememebering something...
"WAAAAIT!" She cried.

"oh, bloody-WHAT, MUTHAH?!" Paul cried back in exasperation.

"Ya didn't botha t'eat any breaky!"

"I'll fetch somethin' at Lennon's, Mum- I'm runnin' VERY late!"

"Alright, but be sure to thank 'is Auntie!"

"Will do, Mum! Buh-bye," Paul cried- his voice faded out because he yelled it as he was running.

Mrs. McCartney just stood in the doorway, shaking her head as she went back inside the house.