I stand in the kitchen, fridge door hanging open as I rummage through the contents. My head still feels foggy from sleep - or maybe from last night's chimichanga marathon. The sound of quick footsteps approaching makes me turn, one hand still gripping a carton of orange juice.

You rush in, practically bouncing with energy, a wide smile on your face that could light up the whole room. "Guess what today is?" you ask, voice positively sparkling with excitement.

I blink at you, genuinely confused. My brain short-circuits for a second, trying to connect today with any important dates. Taco Tuesday? National Chimichanga Day? Definitely not Christmas. I shrug, taking a long sip of juice straight from the carton.

"No idea, kiddo. Should I?" I mutter, returning to my fridge exploration.

Hours later, I'm pacing the living room, growing increasingly frustrated. You've been acting weird all day - quiet, withdrawn, that big smile nowhere to be found. I slam my fist gently on the counter, trying not to show how much your mood is bothering me.

"Why won't you tell me what's wrong?" I grumble, running a hand through my messy hair. "Look, I get it, I'm not exactly known for my stellar memory, but clearly this is important!"

You sit silently on the couch, arms crossed, staring at your feet. When you finally speak, your voice is so quiet I almost don't hear it. "It's nothing..." you mutter, brushing hair out of your face in a gesture that looks more like you're hiding your expression than anything else.

"Just tell me," I say, my voice sharpening with irritation - though if I'm being honest with myself, I'm mostly irritated at myself for not figuring it out already. "Whatever it is, it's clearly bothering you, so just spit it out."