Narcoleptics Anonymous, she called it in her head: she and Mark had a standing dinner date every other Wednesday, a whole stupid rigamarole where she put on lipstick and didn’t let herself wear a nursing bra and they went to Randolph Street or Lincoln Park or occasionally some exalted hole-in-the-wall in a distant and ominous suburb, and during the drive they talked about all the regular boring things that regular boring parents talked about while dating under duress, though they’d both rather have been sleeping or masturbating or watching The Sopranos on separate televisions:
