Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. That someone was me. I had night class last night (a really fun class, don't get me wrong) and it sucked the life out of me. Consider after working all day that the last thing I wanted to do was hop in the car, sit in traffic and then sit in a classroom all night listening to some good (mostly bad) short stories and workshopping them all night long. Then I get to hop back in the car and drive home ( at the speed of light...I got home in 26 mins last night--the University is about 40 mins away). I just wanted to spend a little time not thinking--and definitely not thinking about all the work that is pileing up for me to do.

John and I decided to watch a tivoed edition of Blind Date. After watching a particularly cringe-worthy episode, John cupped my face and kissed me, "Isn't it awesome that we don't have to date anymore?"

I didn't feel that way when we went up to bed and he unleashed the single foulest gaseous expansion my nose ever had the misfortune of being near.

However, I was more than happy when--to cure me of my sour morning attitude (after slapping the alarm clock like a pesky misquito, grumbling, moaning and sniping)--John undid my work pants that I hastily slapped on after bitching about the lack of hot water (um...who was supposed to call the hotwater heater guy? Oh that would be me...instead, I just decide to go downstairs on a nightly basis and trip the switch so that it resets rather than call for a new thermometer) and with his lovely hands eased a smile back onto my face.

I thought it would be only fair to return the favor...
as long as he didn't mess up my pink work shirt. I can only imagine the mood I would've been in, had we had just a few more minutes to actually strip down.