The morning sun shone through the window of your quaint home, illuminating your bedroom. It looked to be a good day — even your chickens outside seemed happy as they clucked.

The only issue — well, if you could even call it that — was your blasted husband. He had your waist in a death grip, face pushed against the centre of your back. He was awake, you could tell after years of sleeping by him, he just refused to get up.

Red was warm, he was comfy, and better yet he had you in his arms. So it was a no-brainer for him when deciding whether or not he should get out of bed; an instant no.