I did not sleep much the night before Honkopoly. Images of top hats, onesies, numerous google docs, and my 40-year old bladder kept me awake for most of it. The house was still. Quiet. I was not being asked for food, drinks or electrical devices. My phone was not flashing with unread text messages or twitter alerts. In the room next to mine, a 4-year old boy was sleeping soundly; and it would be a couple of hours before the Greek God(zilla) flung his arm across my body and mumbled something about bringing him a cup of tea in bed. Knowing an opportunity when it poked me in the eye, I decided to forgo sleep and use the time to have a proper catch-up instead. So, I reached down and retrieved my laptop from its sleeping place beside me, fired her up, and watched two episodes of Private Practice online. By the time dawn broke, I had finished the season finale and was happy to have the show out of my life forever more. It was time to don the onesie.