Me (whispering): Are you awake?
B (in bed at 9pm because he's sick, whispering back): Yes.
Me: Um, the dishwasher smells like fire. But you don't have to get up.
B: No no, I want to help.
Moving the party to the kitchen.
B: Yeah, that definitely smells like fire. Don't use that.
Me: I think this is God's way of telling me to pack the dishes...