I don't know why they're so tired. I sleep fine, as long as someone nurses me constantly after dark and puts my binky back in my mouth after each of the 8,000 times I spit it out at night.
Making up from a sleep-deprivation-induced marital skirmish last week, this exchange took place as we read our respective books (his on statistics, mine on hiking - neither of which we practice) and attempted to make up (MULTITASKING!) before going to sleep.
SLB: (grudgingly) I love you, you know.
Me: (pain in the assishily) Say it all romantic. Say it like Shakespeare.
SLB: (ghoulishly) WOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOOO! I looooooove YOOOOOUUUUUUU...
And that, my friends, is why I can't stay mad at this face for long.
"I'm sorry for all the times I was always wrong and you never, ever were wrong. Never. Not once. Have some flowers"