After a long night of salsa dancing and bar hopping, Caitlin and I pulled up to my apartment at around 4:15am. She was already sound asleep in the passenger seat, and, too exhausted to walk the fifty feet to my door, I put my head down on the center armrest and napped for about thirty minutes. Finally realizing that we were sleeping in a car outside my apartment, I suggested that we go upstairs.
She sluggishly dragged herself up the stairs and into my apartment, where she immediately crashed onto my futon, sound asleep. I knew that she would wish that she had washed her face when she woke up in the morning, so I grabbed a wet washcloth and tried to wipe her makeup off. She abruptly awakened, forcefully yanked the covers over her head, and snarled, “I REALLY DON’T WANT TO BE TOUCHED RIGHT NOW.”