As a teenager, I would stay up until 3am on weekends and then sleep in until 2pm. My father really hated it (which made it, of course, all the more appealing), saying I was wasting the day.
As an adult - at least in my post-college years - I've become one of those people who can't seem to sleep past 9am on weekends, almost regardless of how late I stay up. Apparently this weekend, however, I needed more sleep - I was still in a deep, deep sleep at 10:30am on Sunday when Chris finally woke me up.
I've never been young and foolish - members of my family will back me up when I say that I've basically always been old and boring. (At age 33 I'm finally growing into my default disposition.) But sleeping until 10:30am on a Sunday morning made me feel 15 again, if only until I tried to get out of bed and every bone in my body creaked.