Because the Boy from Work is passed out on the very uncomfortable sectional couch in the living room, I shake him to see if he wants to go to sleep in my bed.
Me: Hey. Hey, do you want to go to bed?
Boy from Work: {Grumbling}
Me: Was that a yes?
BFW: {Grumbling}
Me: Don't you want to sleep somewhere more comfortable?
--At this point the BFW scissors up in a shockingly agile way. He stares at me.--
BFW: (angrily) Just do it like you always do it, okay?
Me: Huh?
BFW: Why can't you just do it like you always do it?
Me: I'm asking if you want to go to bed in my room and not out here in the living room, BFW. What are you talking about?
BFW: The taco shell! The taco shell! Just put it on top, upside-down, like you normally do. Okay? Geez.
Me: Oh my God. Are you sleep walking?!
--And then as fast as he was up, the BFW is down again, and he lands with his face planted in a pillow. I can't convince him to move for another half an hour. When he wakes up, he remembers talking to me about the taco shell, but he has no idea why. I think maybe the stress of owning a restaurant is catching up with him.--
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