Him: It's 9:00 a.m.
Me: I know.
Him: I wish someone would toast me a sesame seed bagel.
Me: Oh, do you now? Well, if it is physically possible for me to drag myself from this bed, I will do it. But I only slept five hours, and my body knows it, so I don't know if I can.
(He turns on the radio. Classical music emanates softly, pastoral stuff with rich horns and a stately, napulous rhythm.)
Me: So I guess you want me to go back to sleep, then?
Him: Not at all.
Me: But this is sleeping music.
(Music changes to a movement more lively.)
Him: That's not what I hear. I hear golden bagels flying through the air being toasted by the sun, with lots of squirrels running around slicing them and putting little butter pats on them.