So shameful I can't even properly title it

"It's your turn tonight."

Drag me out into the street and shoot me, tar and feather me, force me to wear nothing but lime green and listen to Johnny Mathis for the rest of my life. I do not care. The punishment is equal to the crime.

Seth the Southern Charmer and I have become one of those couples.

You know. The "No you hang up" couples.

*Vomits into the nearest potted plant*

I know, I know. How does one go from being afraid of committing herself to a betta fish, let alone another human person, to becoming one half to a "No YOU hang up" whole?

I have no idea. It just happened. I blame the Catholic Herald entirely for this sudden change in personality.

I can just envision several of my friends either poking their eyes out or laughing uncontrollably at this confession. The "No you hang ups" are the type of couples that I used to dream of playing an impromptu game of Red Rover with on my way to class.

Any single college student knows the scene.

It's 7:55 a.m. You were up until 4 a.m. writing some ridiculous philosophy paper, the thesis of which you can't honestly remember, you have 12 straight hours of class ahead of you, the only thing left in your pantry is a banana so old it's turned black, and you surely can't ask your parents to deposit a little lunch money into your bank account with the negative balance because you spent the last $50 they sent you on Papa John's and Fleischmann's. You're hungry, you're tired, you're likely cold if you go to school in Wisconsin and the guy you like didn't return your text messages last night.

And then they appear. The happy couple joining in the human death march to their 8 a.m. class. But with them, it's a different story. They're well rested, well fed, a paper just waiting to have an A++ smacked on it sitting in their backpack. And they're holding hands. Blech.

It takes all the energy in your being to not scream, "Red Rover Red Rover call Amy right over!" and go thrashing through the two of them, ending all that hand holding nonsense.

*Sigh.* I digress.

To Seth's and my credit, we don't actually go through the process of "You hang up," "No you hang up," No really you hang up!" That would be a little much. Instead, as the clock approaches 10:30 my time every night, 11:30 his, the declaration, "I should probably go to sleep" inevitably occurs. Followed by the, "Do you want me to let you go?" And then the somewhat pukey, "No, just a few more minutes." Which sometimes turns into five...or 30...or 90.

It's gotten so bad that we now actually have to declare who's turn it is to end the conversation every night. And it is that person's responsibility to conclude with what is now becoming the traditional, "Sweet dreams. Have a good night. I'll call you tomorrow."

Such declarations have to be under two minutes and end with a prompt, "Bye" and hang up. No waiting around to see if the other person didn't hang up.

Unless of course I've been the meanie and actually hanging up all this time while he waits to engage in a "No you hang up" extravaganza?

Huh. Maybe that's why his emails have gotten so short.