First, there’s a kid next door that used to practice pop-goes-the-weasel way too early for us.

Second, there’s this phenomenon where, sometimes, when I’m in a dead sleep and Alex comes to bed, I’ll open my eyes a sliver and see his black silhouette looming over the bed.

And I’ll start screaming.

It happened twice in college. The first time was worst, because I didn’t recognize him even when he started talking to me and trying to calm me down. He had to turn on the light so I could see him.

Since college, things have been perfectly quiet . . . until last night.

Once Alex calmed me down (quickly enough), he had this dismayed look on his face and said “I was this close to just sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Then, after a long shaky pause: “Take that, pop-goes-the-weasel kid.”