We were snuggled into the blankets, I in a t-shirt, he in his boxers, very much ready for sleep. It'd been a long day, as usual, and we were tired.
In a last ditch effort to cause a ruckus, he began to tickle. Or poke. Honestly, I don't remember, but I did the only thing I could think of - yell for help.
"Ma!" I squealed, in a frantic urge for him to let me sleep in peace. Of course, Mom was 45 minutes away, probably sleeping herself, and would be of no help to me. At all. But I was at a loss.
However, it worked. He immediately stopped. He looked at me, almost frightened. And then he spoke.
"You can not call out for your mom while we're half-naked in bed."