Among other reasons

Last night John and I stayed out quite late, partly by accident. Starting out the evening at the Drake Hotel's period(1930s)-swing party, we afterward hit up a small faux Irish bar in River North. Garrett Ripley? The patron who "founded" the bar? Yeah, we asked about him too. Turns out, he's totally fictional.

After time with some good company (John's Northwestern-prof-friends) and conversation, John and I headed out the door to go home. We got sidetracked once with buying a "homeless" man a gyro (hey, buy one get one free, and it'd been a long time since I'd had drunken late-night take away) and delayed once when we were informed that the blueline out to our Logan Square stop would be delayed because a person had fallen on the tracks and needed to be removed (I noticed they didn't use the word "body"...). At this point, it was late late, and by 3am we were finally home.

I very guiltily canceled my breakfast plans (they were to be at 9.30am, about 45 minutes away eating with my sister at The Bourgeois Pig), and slept in. And woke up, more or less, to this:

And that is why I live with John. And why I love him, among other reasons.

(That's a pancake. Anne-cake. Annie-cake. Whatever. Also that tray is sitting on my lap, in bed. *sigh*)