"I need a vacation. Just a little one," I sighed heavily last night while getting ready for bed.
"Uh-huh," Brett replied, not really paying attention.
"I'd love to go back to that Westin hotel... you know the one we stayed at on our honeymoon."
"Oh, yeah?" Brett's ears perked up.
"Yup. Remember that awesome bed? It was huge and piled high with pillows and fluffy down comforters and it had the softest sheets EVER. I wonder what the threadcount on those sheets was..."
"I have no idea about the threadcount, but you can bet that I remember that bed..."
"Well, here's what I would do for my vacation...I'd check in as early as possible, go upstairs to the room, hang the 'do not disturb' sign on the door..."
"Go on..." I had Brett's full attention now.
"Then I'd hop into that big ol' bed and I think that within 5 seconds of my head hitting the pillow, I'd be fast asleep. I'd stay asleep until 11:00 the next morning, at which time I would phone the front desk and let them know I'll be staying another night. No need to make up the room. Then I'd go back to sleep until check out the next day."
"You're welcome to join me on my vacation, if you want. You just can't make any noise or flop around in the bed or kick your feet or anything like that. I also don't want to hear any whining about you being hungry or going into a diabetic coma or anything like that. This isn't an eating vacation. It's a sleeping vacation. I also don't want you complaining about being bored. If you can't sleep the whole time (it's a rare gift I have) then you can watch TV. Softly. I love you that much."
"You're a cracksmoker."
"I know, honey. I know."