Nothing good comes from deviating from the Routine

Over the years, Marc and I have established a Weeknight Routine in which we do, wear, watch, and eat pretty much the exact same things from night to night. It's easy and familiar and unerringly consistent - I assume most couples fall into similar patterns of habit. Maybe not, though; maybe when you guys get home at night, you spin a giant wheel of Random Adventure! and then end up gleefully hitchhiking to Mexico or having sex on a firetruck or something, I don't know. The only wheel we're spinning over here has "Official Eating Pants/Jeans" on it, and Jeans is crossed out.

My part of the routine essentially entails piling up on the couch with my laptop while periodically piping up to criticize Marc's piss poor Tivo forwarding skills and then eventually grabbing the remote from him and assuming the task because I'm sick of missing the first ten seconds after every commercial break. These lapses in plot don't seem to bother Marc, though he's usually two beers deep and mildy unconscious which might have something to do with it.

So the other night we were roughly 1/2 way through an episode of 24, wherein Jack was shooting someone in the knee, slowly dying of that bio weapon thingy that everyone is up in arms about this season and still not stopping for a pee break when I heard Marc softly snore from his section of the couch. I turned off the show, because usually what happens is that I'll watch the rest, and then the next night, Marc will be all, "Let's watch 24!" To which I'll reply, "I watched it last night while you were passed out on the couch."
"I was?"
"Yes."
"Well, did you finish it without me?"
"Of course."
"Why would you do something like that?"
And then I assume the position of mute fury, because we have this conversation at least once a week.

So, on this particular night, I decided to avoid it and went upstairs to get ready for bed, leaving him in his semi-comatose state.

We have, in our bathroom, one of those mirrors that is two sided. The one side is normal, great for putting on makeup in the morning while Marc is splashing about in the sink, trying to cover the counter with water, and the other, well, it magnifies your shit back at you times ten. Most of us could get through life without this particular brand of self-flagellation, but I'm 1/2 blind and like to actually get my blush on my cheeks and not, say, my chin. This particular night, it was somewhere around 10pm, a time of day wherein I had never looked into the magnifying portion of the mirror. And Sweet Moses. It was like staring down the barrel of a gun with Satan at the other end holding a new pair of tweezers and a blackhead extractor.

I don't even know what happened next. It's possible I blacked out. But roughly two hours later I came to and now I need like three different eyebrow pencils and a skin graft. I would recommend not purchasing one of these mirrors and leaving this kind of grooming to the professionals. Stick to the Routine, people. Your face will thank you.