Sleepless, Ice Cream Man, Bruiser and I decided to spend a Saturday night in, swapping war stories. As we did so, we figured out that Bruiser’s husband and Ice Cream Man have a lot in common, namely, a familiarity with the Latin language, de jure.
After sharing silva rerum, Bruiser headed home and Ice Cream Man suggested shots and Saturday Night Live. Sleepless and I, fans of both, grabbed some pajamas, our cups, and phones and found our positions in their bed.
Within minutes of hitting the pillow, Ice Cream Man fell asleep. Sleepless and I stayed up,watching SNL and giggling. At one point, however, I fell asleep. I know this because I woke myself up – right in the middle of a dream about me snoring – because I was snoring. “Was I just snoring?” I asked Sleepless who laid wide awake in between Ice Cream Man and I. “Yes,” she giggled. “I don’t know why I was snoring. I swear that only happens here. Maybe it has something to do with this place or maybe I’m sick.” “Or maybe those are the two things you tell yourself,” she quipped. Ice Cream Man interjected, “Me too.” Unfortunately, he wasn’t really interjecting, just talking in his sleep. “Sorry you have to be stuck in between the two of us,” I told Sleepless. “It’s OK,” she replied, then changed the channel until she found Alaska State Troopers. “This is Acehole’s favorite show,” I advised and added, “No coincidence were watching it tonight.” She smiled and turned up the volume – most likely to drown out my snoring and Ice Cream Man’s talkin. Silentium est aureum.