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I sleep with a mitt. That's what I call it. It's a black velvet helmet really, that covers your eyes, but it's no ordinary sleeping mask. It's the mitt, and it means business. Last night I couldn't sleep. It seems I can only fall asleep when a movie I know by heart is on. Last night, after the finale of Huff, I switched on the 1996 hit She's The One. But when The Suitor saw Ed Burns on the screen, he complained, "Think we can put on something I can actually stomach?"
"We're watching this." It's enough that I give him the good side of the bed, near the television. I was mid-movie when he strolled in.
"But isn't this that movie with Angelina Jolie as a news anchor who's going to die?"
"No, that's Life or Something Like It." I'm surprised I remember the title of such a crap movie (which I probably even own on DVD). "This is with Amanda Peet, Jennifer Aniston, and Cameron Diaz." I assume this information will make the movie more palatable for The Suitor. I then flipped over, pulling the mitt over my eyes, trying to sleep as I listened. But each time the plot turned, I found myself turning toward the television, sneaking a look at the screen. In one scene, Jennifer Aniston was complaining to her husband about his lack of libido. "I don't even remember the last time I saw your penis!" She shouted at her hubby. With this, The Suitor turns to me and asks if I'm wearing the mitt.
"Can you see? Are you using the mitt?" I pull it up some more, so he can see that my eyes are no longer covered. "Can you see this?" he asks, showing me his penis.
"Barely." Then I turned back over, the mitt over my head.
"Well that's good enough for me," he said. And then he swung his arm around me and we laughed. And laughed. Until tears began to fall into my mitt. I love nights like that. They're my favorite, and so is he.