This is the look I get when I finally get tired of having a six-pound weight sitting on me (24/7 if she had her way) and… *gasp*… ask her to lay at the end of the bed. Not off the bed mind you. Or even in her own bed, which is quite soft and fluffy (I’d use it if I could fit my over-sized self into it). Goodness knows what would happen if I did either of those things. I’d probably be banished to a more special section of Hell. The laying on of the guilt is thick enough as it is just from this one small transgression on my part.