Some people are just meant to be together.

Allow me to set the stage: it's 9:30ish and some change at casa de VeeDub this evening. Joey is sprawled out on one couch, rocking his finest pair of fish pajama bottoms and a tee shirt that may or may not have been washed in the last week. He's on his eleventieth episode in a row of "American Pickers" and is also halfheartedly flipping through the pages of the most recent HOUR Detroit.

Similarly, I am sprawled on the adjacent couch, nomming on my Camelbak jug filled with water only because my body is so desperately deprived of nutrients and agua due to the fact that I've fed it nothing but wine, champagne, vodka and Chex Mix for the last week. I'm in a similar getup, though I would never be caught dead in fishing sweatpants, so mine are of the classier Victoria's Secret variety. I'm also well into my seven hundredth game of euchre on the iPad, cursing at my virtual partner for calling hearts on nothing but a 9 and Q. What a whore.

Anyway, Joey musters all the energy he has left from what you can deduce from the above was an incredibly exciting and riveting evening to roll over and announce to me that Sunday is a BIG day.

"Babe, you know that Sunday is like, a HUGE football day. Like, all day."

Please note that this is my queue to read between the lines and instead hear, "Babe, I'm not doing anything on Sunday. So don't try any of your funny tricks on me. No Home Goods. No DSW. No 'family adventures'  to the aquarium because it's Sunday and you have a coupon. I'm only doing football."

Message received, good sir. But little does he know that my plans for Sunday include much, much less activity than his. And so, I reply with:

"Babe, I hope you know that I might not even shower on Sunday."

Elation fills his face and he replies with the same genuine love and adoration he had as he spoke his wedding vows to me some four years ago:

"I love you so much right now it's not even funny."

Like I said, some people were just meant to be. We're those people.