Good Night Moonface.

Here's to the one I love. He's not the living undead, he's just asleep.

Him being asleep is usually the best time of the evening. If he’s not he’s singing to himself in his sleep, he’s thrown off the covers exposing his bum like a smorgasbord of skin. He instinctively wraps his arm around me when I creep into bed, and uses his free hand to knead my head like it was a piece of hard dough. And when I laugh at all these - his sleep activities, he either asks if I’m jiggling because I’m cold, or laughs with me, without really knowing anything except that he’s having fun. I know I am.

And there you go: I've officially become a Girl-Friend. If anyone sees me shopping for flowered curtains in the near future, mercy-kill me with a baking sheet.