I'm a grown-ass woman and I'll come to bed when I feel like it

Monte is annoyed with me. He woke up at 1:30 this morning to find that I still hadn't come to bed. I was hunched over my computer, surfing for Harry Potter trivia.

The telltale squeak of the floorboards alerted me that he'd woken. I froze with my hand on the mouse, caught in the act.

Monte appeared in his jammies, looking all cute and disheveled. His hair stuck up at the back and his face was impressed with sleep lines. "You're still on the computer? What are you looking at?" he asked. I thought fast for something that would be deemed appropriate.

"Porn," I said.

"Oh," he mumbled. "Okay." Then he shuffled off to the bathroom.

But I knew he knew better. I shut down my computer and hurried to the bedroom. When Monte came back to bed I tucked him in and smoothed his hair.

"Must be nice," he murmured pointedly, "not to have to get up in the morning."

Ouch.

Of course, this morning he has no memory of having said that. But I was a little miffed, so I told him that his new cowboy boots look silly with his favorite blue pants.

They do. It was sound sartorial advice. But I took a little pleasure in the telling.