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We drive slower. We shrink a bit. We use the bathroom in the middle of the night. We squint while reading. And we may spontaneously fall asleep at any moment.

Mr. Grant was at Wimbledon this week. He was a guest in the royal box. I love the crowd shots. The crisp linen shirts, the Panama hats, the silk cravats, the ombre shades. Everyone looks jaunty and exhilarated, like they are coming from a memorable auction at Sotheby’s.

Well, except Grant. He looked possessed by Rip Van Winkle.

At one point, the cameras zoomed in after he dozed off. Personally, I think this is an invasion of sleepacy. Grant was slouched to the side as if he just got nailed in the head by a Novak Djokovic serve. His skinny tie was splayed like a wishbone. Yet, astonishingly, he was still preposterously handsome. That part was annoying.

My wife once snapped a pic of me catnapping. I cringed.

My face looked like I was skydiving.

Why Grant’s impromptu siesta went viral this week is a mystery. But I doubt his publicist is sweating the headlines. This wasn’t like the 1995 sex scandal. By the way, do you think Divine Brown ever makes cameos in Hugh’s dreams? Then he wakes up in a cold sweat looking around for Jay Leno.

The man has earned the right to sleep in public.

It’s not as if he slumped forward and started snoring in Queen Camilla’s ear.

But that didn’t stop the outrage mob from moaning about how Grant was “rude” to drift into La-La-Land when so many normies were unable to get tickets. How dare he flex his kip privilege? Why doesn’t he just take a pillow and flask of valerian root tea to the Super Bowl?

Enough! Grant is one year away from a senior discount at Shoppers Drug Mart.

Lights, camera, action is no biological match for lights out.

It’s not like he is the first celebrity to get caught snoozing. �پ����’t Jason Kelce drift off during a Taylor Swift concert? He denied it, possibly because he doesn’t want his brother to end up in a future breakup song titled, “Narcolepsy Blues.”

�پ����’t Al Pacino trek to Slumberville at the Globes?

�پ����’t Chrissy Teigen crash out at the Oscars?

If Sofia Vergara can power nap during a press tour, Hugh Grant deserves 40 winks at Wimbledon. Napping is good for your health.

Just thinking about watching tennis is making my eyelids heavvvy. It’s monotonous. Even the court sounds of feral grunts and balls smashed at 120 mph are not enough to keep most people in high alert hours into a tournament. Tennis is dull. And this is coming from someone who loves baseball.

So I salute you, Hugh Grant. You are an outstanding role model in this sleepy world. Please keep embracing your inner somnolence. (Just maybe stay clear of Sunset Boulevard.)

Yes, you were at the planet’s premier tennis event. Yes, you were a row behind your Queen. None of this mattered when your body needed to be recharged and you heroically didn’t fight it.

I bet the first thing Grant asked wife Anna Elisabet Eberstein upon regaining consciousness was, “Where am I?” Sir, you are on the other side of a refreshing nap is where you are. Take a deep breath and smile.

As I’ve said before, there is only one superpower I want. Flying? Get real. My wife would send me out on more errands. Climbing skyscrapers? Hey, Spider-Man, we have invented something called an elevator. Telekinesis? Why, so I can stand in the bushes and concentrate until the patio furniture gets rearranged?

The only superpower I want is invisible napping. Think about it. You’re in an interminable work meeting. Colleagues are spitballing ideas that are clearly idiotic. Then suddenly everyone is looking around frantically and wondering where you disappeared.

They can’t see you are dead to the world under the boardroom table.

James Gunn should have given his new Superman invisible napping. It would be perfect for this kinder, gentler Man of Steel.

You know how No Phone Zones are all the rage? We should have Sleep Zones. Build a darkened room full of bunk beds at ɫɫ�� Depot. Put cots in passport offices. Install hammocks in the subterranean belly at the new Rogers Stadium.

If it takes forever to exit, you might as well catch some shut-eye.

Public sleeping should not just be for airplanes and park benches anymore.

Take a bow, Hugh Grant. Sleeping at Wimbledon is your greatest role yet.

Now where did I put that Ambien?