My dad picked me up at BWI rail station last Thursday night.→[More:]
On the way home, he informed me that I'd be sleeping on an air mattress on the floor of my old room, and that my 3-year old nephew would be sleeping in my childhood bed. Since [Nephew] would be sleeping when I went up, I'd have to tiptoe.

My dad also told my nephew that I might snore in the night, but that he shouldn't worry; all he had to do was say, "[Hugh], roll over."

So when I finally went to bed, after libations and smokations with my brother and a host of friends, I was quiet and didn't wake the little guy up.

Early in the morning, I heard a little whisper. "[Hugh]... roll over!" I rolled over and started to fall back asleep.

A little while later, not quite long enough for me to go to sleep, I heard again, "[Hugh]... roll over!" I rolled.

Three minutes: "[Hugh]... roll over!" I shifted a little.

A minute or so later, he said roll over again. I didn't respond. Then, each time a little louder, "Roll over... roll over... roll over!"

Finally I opened my eyes, propped myself up, and looked at him, sitting on his bed, wide eyed and grinning and staring at me. "[Nephew]," I said, "was I ever snoring?"

He giggled, said no, and then was off, babbling along about this and that: "Actually I wanted to ask you about these stickers on your bed, I see you have airplanes, but one of them is a bicycle, but the bicycle is damaged, see, it doesn't have a wheel, why is it damaged like that?"

Thirty minutes of laughing with that crazy little kid is the best hangover remedy ever.