You know how I (by which I mean "parents") can't really handle staying awake past…oh, I don't know, like three seconds after The Bachelor ends? Because there is a one hundred percent chance that very small people will be all MOM I WANT A MUFFIN at the butt crack of dawn?
Well, even when those small people aren't technically there - and thus will not be waking you up - your body apparently can't handle the idea of awakeness post-ten P.M. Or at least mine can't. Very, very rarely (like on Valentine's Day, for example) I will drag this ancient carcass of mine out until midnight, but let me promise you: I am not happy about it.
But I figured Miami would be a little different. Because, you know…it's Miami. Miami is for staying awake. Dad and I spent one night at my friends Jeremy and Eric's place before heading home, and my plan was to be a functional human being who could hang like an actual person and speak in actual sentences for the duration of the party they were throwing, and then ten o'clock rolled around and I fell asleep while sitting fully upright at the table. In front of people. So I went into the bedroom "just to lie down just for a second," and:
