Warm and conjugal, my sweetie and I bask lazily in a Saturday morning no-need-to-get-up. I've had my shower, but I'm taking a few more minutes to relax slowly into the day.
Shrieks of fake operatic ululating pulsate through the floorboards from the living room below. Seems his youngest, a ten-year-old boy, is awake and greeting the dawn.
"Well, I think I'll just get up now," I grin at the paternal progenitor of the ululator below.
"Feel free," he offers, loving father that he is, "to stuff a sock down his throat when you get there."