Lately, in the mornings, I've felt like the first shitty pancake in a new batch: the one that gets stuck to the pan, is gooey in the middle and burnt on the bottom, and falls completely apart. When I told Tyler this, and explained that he'd have to scrape my droopy face off the bed with a spatula if anything was going to get done today, he defended me vehemently, saying, "You are NOT a shitty pancake!" Then, he wrapped me up in a snuggle for five more minutes of blissful sleep.
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