After 3 hours of Intervention, half of The Big Lebowski, and 2 more hours of Intervention, I fell asleep last night at 10:30, face down in the free Red Cross t-shirt I got for attempting to donate blood they ultimately rejected, as my able-bearded bodied man (who desperately needs a nickname less than 7 syllables) sat alone in the other room, likely asking himself why he ever bothered to move in. I personally believe he did, so I could have early morning conversations like this:
Me: (waking up, panicked) What time is it?
Him: (startled, disoriented) It’s 4 hours for each plant.
Me: (checks phone) It’s 6:53
I definitely find this funnier than it actually is.
Kind of like how he feels about The Big Lebowski.
The girl with the Dragon Tales tattoo