Night Night

We got a bed! And it is niiiiiiiiiiice. It was cheap, but it's a King, and that's all that matters. When we woke up on it the first time this morning, we looked at each other.

"Works for me!" Dave said.

"Me too!" I agreed. Kings rule.

On Thursday night we watched the season premiere of More to Love. It's a new show that's the same as The Bachelor (one of our favorites), but with fat people as both the bachelor and the ladies vying for him. It was pretty good, if not fabulous like the show it was fashioned after. We like to pause a lot as the show progresses to discuss many aspects with each other (including dorkiness, lack of propriety, derths of social skills, etc., etc.).

In the middle of the night that night, Dave, who was sleeping on his stomach, suddenly perched up on his elbows and started looking around, appearing wide awake though still unconscious.

"Hi," I said, noticing him since I'm awake a lot at night.

"You would never make it as a Bachelorette on More to Love," Dave announced suddenly. And loudly. I thought for a minute.

"Oh," I said. "Why not?"

"Because you're too particular," he declared.

"Huh," I paused thoughtfully. "How so?"

All of sudden, Dave started waking up. He looked around, confused.

"I don't know what I'm talking about," he mumbled and burried his face in his pillow, embarrrassed.

"Do you realize you just called me fat in your sleep?!" I asked him gleefully. He covered his face with his pillow and refused to answer. All that was heard was a grumpy harrumph.