I may have mentioned before that I speak in my sleep when I am exhausted. Sometimes I sit up. So TB is watching something in bed and turns around to find me wide-eyed and grinning. He raises his brow questioningly.
Me: (smacking the pillow, and in an indignant voice) I’m not reporting. Why should I report. I’m not reporting.
TB: That’s right. You’re not a reporter.
Me: Ya! I’m not a reporter. I don’t report.
TB: You’re a model!
Me: Ya! I’m a model!
And I go off to sleep.