So ok� After many drinks at Charlie�s Brent and I came home and decided to start watching (because I am just this obsessed with sandwiches) the DVD that I had chosen as my PBS member pledge gift--Sandwiches That You Will Like. Yes. It is past four in the morning. But we were sort of hungry and found it an appropriate time to watch it, considering I had just made him the maddest phattest hotdog with every mustard and ketchup known to man, as well as melted and beautiful smoked cheddar.

After several evocative bits on au jus, that made me want to go find a cow to kill and cook medium rare, I realized how late it was and that Brent was jamming a mad crook in his neck (sleeping on the comfortable but not bed-like overstuffed chair) that he would surely regret tomorrow, leaning over the hot grill chock full �o swordfishes and delicious steaks. So I implored him that we should go to sleep. But he didn�t budge. Mind you, I wanted to watch the rest of Sandwiches That You Will Like but damn, ninja, it�s fuckin� four in the morning!

So I shook him. I shook him� sweetly, of course� and said, �Shug? Ummm� Shug? We need to go to sleep.� I continued to shake him, repeating these words.

Upon which he finally replied, �Do you want to go watch Golden Girls?�

Christ, I love it when he talks in his sleep.

Then I made fun of him for fifteen minutes (lovingly) while I pretended to be The Old Woman Sofia on the show, bit by bit walking him upstairs and helping him take off his clothes to get ready for bed.

Now he is snoring like a mafia princess with a deviated septum.

And I shall go to sleep.