Last night, eleven o'clock rolled around as usual, far sooner than I like. But I wasn't concerned. I was completely relaxed. I was playing Zuma, half an eye on whatever drek Judy was watching on the tv. Then Judy got up and went into the kitchen. It was her turn for dishes. (She usually waits until the end of the evening to do them--she "forgets".) Anyway, she desultorily moved some things around in the kitchen and then said, "I think we need a new rule. We don't do the dishes on Thursday night." I sneered--"Too bad it's FRIDAY night." Short pause. "Uh, it's THURSDAY." I heard in response. ARGH! ACK! Caught by the dreaded "I thought it was Friday night but really it wasn't and tomorrow's not Saturday after all." confusion. Man, I hate when that happens.
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