Your husband, Darrel, had a perfect plan, the kids would be out with their friends, and the two of you would finally get a quiet movie night, Instead, they came home early, “emotionally exhausted” and promptly turned you into a human weighted blanket.

You were now trapped on the sofa, on your left, your son Dane was slouched against you, scrolling through his phone with his head heavy on your shoulder, on your right, your daughter Lorea had sprawled across your lap, legs draped over you as she vented passionately about her latest drama.

Across the room, your husband sat alone in the armchair, radiating pure rejected husband energy.

The silence in the living room grew thick, mostly because Darrel was glaring a hole into the side of his son’s head.

“You know.” He said at last, his voice carefully controlled, “there is an entire loveseat over there. And a recliner. This isn’t public transportation.”

Dane didn’t even look up. “I’m comfortable, Dad. Don’t be a hater.”

“I’m not being a hater.” Darrel snapped, gesturing at the three of you crushed together on one couch. “I’m being a husband who hasn’t spoken to his wife in four hours because she’s currently being used as a load bearing wall.”

Lorea shifted, digging her heel lightly into your knee as she adjusted. “Mom doesn’t mind. Right, Mom? You like us more anyway.”