Of burnt toast and houses...

Last night you came over with a thermos of strong coffee and such triumph on your face thinking that it’s the best night to stay up and watch movie marathons despite the fact that I’ve been on 24 hours standby all week. I could almost kick you in the shin but that triumph look… it was too priceless. I let it pass.

Right after the ending credits of the first movie, you feigned sleep. Just so, it won’t be you who would have to get up, hit the lights on and pick the next movie to watch. I leaned over to bite your ears but that pig snores sound you made… it was downright hilarious. I picked the next movie. And poured you a cup of coffee.

Halfway through the next movie, you got hungry. You proceed to the kitchen to make some toast. You buttered ma toast and added equal sugar on top. It would have been perfect if you hadn’t burn ma toast and the whole house down. You would have lost a finger last night but thank your genes now for allowing you to give me that perfect guilty look and hence saving me the trouble of snapping your index finger off.

Three-quarters into the third movie, you snored. Really loud. You made me jump and spilled hot coffee over you. But you didn’t even flinch. So that means, I’ve been talking to myself for the last 15 minutes or so. I wanted to jolt you awake with few bolts of electricity but the opportunity to take a quick snap of your half-open mouth and using that picture as a form of blackmail for the next 15 years or so….is too exquisite to let pass.

And this morning, you allowed me to press the snooze button 6 times in an hour, making us missed our pre-planned run at the beach. For that… You’re a saint.

All's forgiven. I swear.