the hyperactive talkaholic loved one arrives in the bed just after i've reached the point of deepest sleep
through my cerebral fog she's talking about the wedding we'll be attending in a couple of months
she says, with all the incandescent brightness of hope, "i'll need a new dress ... and a hat"
i mumble, whilst struggling back to semi-consciousness, "would you like to borrow my crash helmet?"
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say what you like ... his lordship will turn it over in what he is pleased to call his mind ...