friday evening we went out for drinks with friends, followed by dinner with mr. monkey's colleagues, followed by the possibility of a fire with other friends still. by the time we dropped off the colleagues and drove home, i realised there was no way in hell i'd be capable of attending the fire which was set to start around 10:30pm (a.k.a. my bedtime). i told mister monkey to drop me off at home and go, despite his increasingly loud and dramatic yawns. he came in, took off his pants*, putzed around the kitchen for a bit and then followed me to the living room.
mr. monkey (yawning dramatically): i have decided to stay here with you instead of having fun. even though i am wide awake and full of energy.
* he always takes off his pants when he comes home, even if he only comes in for a bit**. it is one of life's great mysteries that i have long since given up trying to comprehend.
** a bit of time. a bit of TIME, you dirty*** minded poultries!
*** if it was a bit of somethin' somethin', then i would hardly be puzzled by the pant removal, now wouldn't i?