A drunken visitation


I stayed in this evening while my wife went out for drinks, and although I got Destroyer to sleep for the first time ever (a combination of a sheep spewing white noise and me patting her back) I didn’t achieve much else this evening. I read a bit, downloaded some rubbish from the internet and was on the verge of going to bed when I heard giggling and raised voices from the hallway. I put on some clothes and went to investigate.

It was my wife, alone, lying on the floor and giggling to herself, and refusing to get up. She made me take her shoes off, but subsequent attempts to get her off the floor failed, and so I gave her a pillow and left her to the floor, which she claimed was quite comfortable. She giggled some more.

Proper drunkenness at our age should involve waking up on the sofa, unclear as to why all the lights are on, so I suppose I should try to shift my wife but she’s uncooperative and probably sore from her afternoon personal training, and I don’t want to injure myself before tomorrow’s run (a run when I’m meant to be taking La Serpiente, after last week’s fiasco).

But on the other hand, she’s making the living room untidy. Whst a dilemma that is.


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