After I had washed my face, brushed my teeth, and had renounced my bra for another 8 hours, I went over to "my side" of the bed and found a little note on my pillow with a husband on "his side" of the bed trying not to giggle like a schoolgirl. The little note said:
How about no snoring tonight?
(Snoring?! Not I! Never! Ok, fine... I have super bad allergy congestion, and so I snore. There! You've bullied it out of me!) Anyway, that's not the point here. I flicked the note at him and asked (quite indignantly) "Just who, exactly, do you think 'the management' is?"
Because it is certainly not the husband. It's me. I'm the management. And I'm ok with all the snoring I do during the night.