It was early evening and we were sitting at Coté Place with fresh-fruit-chocked sangria and Mattieu's homemade tapenade. Our husbands were with us.
The square was rather quiet. Melinda, the hotel cat, was checking out what other creatures were around, before finding a perch just inside the door on the counter.
"What is?" I asked.
"Every morning when we get up we ask 'How did you sleep?'" She sighed. "We never did that when we were young."
Discussing snoring, number of trips to the toilet in the night, comfort of temperature certainly isn't romantic.
Most morning, Rick and I discuss our sleeping. Thank goodness we also discuss plans for the day, what we are reading--any number of topics. But I really want to know if he did sleep well. If that makes me old, so be it.