Bedsville, Population 1

Whenever I travel for business Spencer taunts me with our bed.

Our bed is glorious. It’s just the right amount of soft and firm, and it’s enormous (hello, king size) and doesn’t make any noise when you roll over. We have a lovely, fluffy duvet with a cool feeling cotton cover, and magnificently high thread count sheets. I have a pillow that is sealed in one of those hypoallergenic zipper cases that is about an inch thick and was my woobie when I was a child. It’s so worn and thin that I actually have a second pillow in the nice case that came with our sheets. My pillow is about as soft as a brick, and I love it. I love our bed and everything on it. Even the six decorative pillows that Spencer likes to complain about.

When I am away overnight Spencer likes to sleep all spread out like a starfish.

When he left on Sunday I chortled and told him I was going to sleep in the middle of the bed.

Well, the best laid plans – it turns out that I cannot sleep anywhere in our bed but clinging to the side, with roughly six inches of space to my name covered in furry heaters that purr, in the exact same position every night. I know this, because I tried. I tried, and I tossed, turned, and woke up every 40 minutes wondering where Spencer was and pissed off that my legs were all hot because I was totally covered in that fluffy duvet. (Instead of dangling one leg outside the blankets, off the side of the bed touching the floor with one foot*)

This makes no logical sense. I travel fairly consistently for work and manage to sleep in any number of beds, in any number of places. I sleep so soundly that I’ve been known to jar myself from a deep sleep, totally disoriented and fall out of bed whacking my head on the nightstand. Repeatedly. (Once I managed it so well I actually knocked myself out and earned a concussion that resulted in short term memory loss for months. I am a good time when travelling, people – in the sense that you will never stop laughing at me.)

Welcome to the beginning of my very longest month.

From my private Twitter feed last night:

p.s. Spencer has responded to this post with a plot to take over the bed even when I am home. I believe this is what is referred to as “declaring war.” Does he not understand the need for personal space in order to maintain a proper bed to body surface temperature?

*Please note this is in direct conflict with my belief as a child that dangling any body part over the side of the bed would result in whatever monster/serial killer/rapist living under there would eat it/ cut it off /sell it for parts in some underworld chop shop. Now it’s more important to me that I have a head start to the restroom before my lentil-sized bladder decides to break dam in the middle of the night.