Boys Night Out

I think it's of vital importance that boys go out with the boys. Boys need their time to fart, and talk about girls and do whatever else it is that boys do (I like to think that they ask each other opinions on new shirts before going out and say, Dude - fix your hair).


So, I was rather pleased when The Boy went out with his friends last night, leaving me a blissful Friday evening of quiet solitude, frozen pizza, comfy pjs and re-runs of friends. Oh, what a glorious evening I had! 


The problem however with boys night is when my lovely, much needed sleep is interrupted by texts (I've forgotten my key, I've found my key, I'll be a few hours yet babe). And just as I finally drift off again into a light slumber, he arrives home and I am engulfed in sweaty smelly cuddles that send me balancing precariously on the edge of the bed. And that's before the snoring inevitably begins. From that point on sleeping becomes hard work, a fine balance of tuning out senses to the smell and noise while trying to not fall off the bed. 


But it's hard to be cross with someone who seems to be so happy when they come home. It's so unlike my previous relationship experiences when The Ex would leave on Friday and stumble in grumpy on a Sunday demanding to be fed.


So I shan't complain, instead I will shortly drag myself off the couch and make him a bacon and egg sandwich. 


Man I'm a good woman.