On Friday and Saturday nights, I was up late. Reeeallly late. Admittedly, later than I should have been. Although I have to defend Saturday's 1am bedtime, since unfortnately I was in the bathroom from 12-1. Too much information there, I know. Sorry.
So last night, for some reason Hubba-hubba decides to get all paternal and snippy with me, and informs me that I had better get to bed on time. Because he doesn't want me to be crabby and he wants to have a good day. If this had been said in a loving and concerned tone, my subsequent reaction would have been different. I just want you to know that.
This is coming from a man who for years has had chronic insomnia and has been known not to fall asleep until 3am. Even when he needs to get up at 5:30am. Anybody sense some projection going on here?
I wasn't able to see it that way last night, however, and I got quite
I got to bed later than I wanted, but not horribly late.
I woke up just a half hour after he did, despite the fact that he went to bed two whole hours before me.
And, here it is- here is the irony coming, gird yourself.
Who was laying on the couch this afternoon, taking a nap?
Not me, my friends, not me.