I was retiring late last night, some 20 minutes after TDT had already gone to bed and was snoring away in slumberland. Picking up my book, the most excellent "Moab is my washbag," I slipped into the world of Stephen Fry in the 60s as a child. 10 minutes later, and TDT turned over to face me and mumbled something unintelligible.
"Are you ok?" I asked.
"No," came the prompt reply.
"What's the matter?" I enquired, concerned she might be unwell
"No," rather confusingly again came the reply.
"Are you asleep?"
"No," she assured me. Eyes still closed (but we all know that this means she's just resting her eyelids). Then she settles into a mumble-fest before finally slipping back to sleep.
As I turned off the light, fluffed up the pillows and tucked myself in, she proceeded to rub my head. Yes, I know it was sweet. But, she then started to tweak my head like Stan Laurel when he was upset, ie. with her fingertips in almost a massage.
Don't you love sleep talking/motions?
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