You're worried. You've seen the beacon, shining brightly from midtown east, signaling to the extraterrestrials that they can land. You're stockpiling canned goods (and a can opener, of course, because you're not stoopid) and waiting in the basement.
Well, you can stop worrying. That's not a beacon to the aliens. It's the sun, glinting off my greasy, greasy hair, as there was not sufficient hot water this morning for me to shower.
Don't feel bad about being worried, though. My feet were, too. (Thanks to my shoes and the a/c in the office, they broke out in a cold sweat. I've treated them with a solid dose of cotton socks and sneakers, and they seem to be recovering nicely.)
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