Last evening Rob and I fell asleep on the sofa while watching tv. This happens to us pretty much every time we have wine for dinner. Wine used to make us giddy but now it just makes us tired. Same with life. I think that means we're old. Anyway, after a nice dinner with wine, we'll retire to the living room and snuggle up on the sofa to watch something on tv, only to wake up three hours later.

(Did I really just say "retire"? Like I'm an 80 year-old woman in a floral house dress suggesting we take our tea into the parlor?)

The problem with this cozy little routine of ours is that we wake up well past midnight in the stupor that comes from having been sound asleep, only to realize that we are not in bed and that getting there will require The Routine - the face washing and teeth brushing and birth control pill taking, etc. (I will admit to sometimes being so stupefied and sleepy that I skip The Routine - except for the birth control pill taking which, even with a half-numb brain, I'm able to recognize the importance of. Sometimes I'm tempted to postpone the pill-taking until morning but then I remind myself that if we had a kid I would be THIS TIRED TIMES TEN.)

Usually Rob is the one who wakes up first and has to rouse me from sleep, only to discover that his wife has been transformed into a fire-breathing dragon who will singe the eyebrows off anyone who dares disturb her slumber. But recently I've been the first to stir from our Napa-induced naps and proceed to get exasperated by Rob's orneriness. Last night was no different. He refused to get up no matter what I said, now matter how meanly I said it, no matter how many times I called him a dickhead. (What? I'm not exactly in my best frame of mind at these moments, either.) Eventually I gave up and decided to check my email before shutting down my laptop. But when I did, I got a server error.

"Rob, our server is down."

He opened his eyes. "What?"

"I'm getting a connection error."

And dude shot off the sofa and stumbled hurriedly downstairs to fix it, like the world was about to explode and he had only two seconds left to hit the big red ABORT button in our basement. "Sonofabitch," I muttered. Not because I clearly play second fiddle to a fucking server (although, you know, that too) but because, shit, why hadn't I thought of that before?!