Somewhere in heaven, a very groggy, very confused angel has just woken up and is trying to figure out why a boisterous Australian man is poking it with a stick.
Sometimes the way language changes annoys me. For example, when I tell a guy that we can "hook up" later, I don't enjoy sounding like I may have propositioned him. Also, it irks me incredibly every time I have to respond to the question "Do you like to party?" with "no."
Dammit, when I was a young 'un, "hook up" didn't mean "engage in sexual intercourse" it meant "meet." And "party" meant "enjoy the company of others, if not actually in attendance at a planned social gathering, then at least at a reasonable facsimile thereof" not "smoke pot."
GET OFF MY LANGUAGE LAWN, YOU KIDS AND YOUR CRAZY TALK.
So, at any rate, my sleep was disturbed around five in the morning by Julie, who decided that she needed to crush me with her love. I finally opened my eyes after the twenty pounds of feline on my chest woke me, and her head was right in my face. She then proceeded to lick my nose and breathe in my eyes. If it hadn't been five in the morning, and my oxygen hadn't been restricted, it would have been adorable. The cat then proceeded to not leave me alone. After about ten minutes of pushing her off my chest only to have her pin me on my side or cut off circulation to my feet, I finally got out of bed and saw that her kibble dish was empty. Now, most cats would cry and sit by their dishes when hungry. But not Julie. No, Julie's first thought at seeing an empty kibble dish is to go, "OH! I MUST NOW CRUSH MY BEAN WITH LOVE."QWP (permission granted via telephone) because that's how I roll these days.