I woke up to a cranky Joey this morning.

His face was squashed into his pillow, his hair was going in four directions, and his voice sounded like Ray Charles when he said, “You are mean.  You kicked me every half hour last night.”

Gosh.

“I did?” I asked.

“YES,” growled Joey.

So I was like, why didn’t you wake me up?

And he goes, well, I tried to push your legs back over to your side of the bed after you’d kick me, but you were very resolute; you’d just come right back and whack me with them.

Hmm.

I still can’t see why he didn’t just haul off and kick me back, but when poor Joey is asleep he can’t think.  He could be freezing under one sheet and no blankets but never wake himself up enough to realize that if he just pulled the blankets up he’d sleep better.

Rough life.

Anyway, Joey’s all cranked out at me because I kicked him every half hour last night.  And, he just walked past me and said “Pobre Tomato…” so I think he might just be going bonkers and singing Veggie Tales songs on the way down.  It’s probably kind of rough to be married to me.