She insists on sleeping on the couch because I’m up for the night, and she doesn’t want to be a whole room away. So I make up a pallet for her, putting down a sheet, tracking down her favorite blanket, and fluffing up her pillow. But she’s being difficult. By 11:00pm, she’s still hunched over her computer working, and I’m standing over her, pointing wordlessly at the couch. After a brief, aborted attempt at passive, pouty resistance, she moves.
(“She moves”, of course, includes fifteen minutes of wandering aimlessly around the house looking for an excuse to avoid bed. Having exhausted all of her options, she finally settles in.)
So around 1:00am, she wakes up croaking, “Can I have some water?” I’m thinking, “You couldn’t have gotten that during your grand procession around the house an hour ago?” But she’s sleepy and needs to get back to it, so I spend no more than a minute-and-a-half going to the refrigerator, taking out the Brita, pouring her a cup, and returning, only for her to be startled as I lean down to hand it to her. She’s somehow fallen asleep again in those 90 seconds.
“Calm down, dummy,” I tell her, guiding her hand to the water. “This sounded really important a minute ago.”
“‘M sorry. Dry mouth,” she mumbles, taking the cup. I return to my chair with the job done, and a few minutes later, I hear her fall back asleep.
For fifteen minutes.
“Aaaaaaahhhh!” I hear coming from the couch, followed immediately by “Oooooohhhhh!”
Now, I instantly know what has happened. The little dumbass fell asleep with the cup still in her hand, and despite the lid I put on it, has managed to dump it all over herself. Her nightshirt is soaked and glued to her tits, her blankets are a mess, and she’s thrashing around making it worse because she’s forgotten she was holding the cup in the first place.
But because I’m amused, I just sit there in the dark and ask, “What’s the matter, pumpkin? Got a problem?”
She continues to struggle and squeal, trying semi-successfully to enunciate the word “COLD!” while I pretend to be confused. After a few more seconds of dazed flopping about, I decide she’s had enough, turn on the lights, get her up, and shoo her off to the bedroom to change her night clothes.
Meanwhile, I get another sheet out of the closet, scrounge up a couple dry blankets, and rebuild the pallet. By the time I’m done, she’s back and struggling her wobbly way into a dry pair of panties. I keep her from falling over as she tries to get her second leg through the hole, and after making sure she’s got them pulled up, I help her perform what amounts to a guided face-plant on to the couch; she’s asleep again almost before she hits. I pull the blankets up to her shoulders and turn down the lights.
Within minutes, she’s making that sound that seems like a snore, but which I am assured is actually a *purr*. In fact, she just “purred” loud enough to make the dog do a double-take.
Even after twenty years, I still like the nights.