You know the stereotypical trope (or frozen lasagna ad) about the husband coming home from work and telling his wife that the boss is coming over for dinner? David showed up at 5:45 last night and asked if a friend from college and his pregnant wife could come over and spend the night. I, unlike the lady with the lasagna, was not prepared but also not mean so they came over for beer (SO MUCH BEER) and our couches. We live so far away from our college friends and we've had a hard time building a community in Durham and I'd kind of forgotten how great it was to get a little drunk on a weeknight and talk about politics and religion and social ethics (don't worry, the pregnant wife just had decaf tea). I had almost forgotten. The three hours of sleep I'm skating on until I can crash (after another dinner with the visitors and another couple of Dave's alma mater) not quite so nice. David sent me a text this morning that just said: Praying for death. I think that's about right
I hope your week got off with a bang too. I hope your headache isn't quite as bad as mine.