Fortunately, we rarely have to get up at the same time, or this might be problematic.
"I'm really not a morning person," he said apologetically, as I snarled my way into consciousness this morning. "It's just that I've been up for an hour already."
"So you say," I growled. "I know the truth. You were raised by mornings."
He paused in the middle of making the bed. "Is that like being raised by Mormons?"
"No, it's like being raised by wolves. The mornings take you in and raise you as one of their own. It's tragic, really."
"I do occasionally get this urge to run westward over the hills, painting things orange."
"There, you see? How many times have I caught you leaping over the hills, whooping, spray paint in one hand--"
"--trying to paint the clouds pink and orange--"
"--yelling "Shine, you mutha, shine!"
There was a lengthy pause.
"We're not right."
"Not really, no."
Anyway, Anthrocon! On the road today! Tomorrow, con! Come by! Say hi! (Buy art!)