Tuesday, December 12, 2006

And Here I Thought a Cal-King Would Be Big Enough

Well, my day actually did not get better last night. It got worse. Hubba-hubba, who I semi-affectionately dub "Crazy Legs," woke me up at 2:44am. At first, I actually thought he was Mr. P climbing into bed, and I remember telling him, "Dude, get back to bed." Surprise! I was talking to no one. But I distinctly remember looking at the clock and groaning internally.

I would be groaning internally until about 5am, which is when I finally fell back asleep. On the couch. And I was up the entire time until then. No half-sleep for me. Just tossing and turning and being uncomfortable.

The weird thing is, although we are highly compatible by day, by night mine and Hubba-hubba's sleep preferences differ greatly.

Hubba-hubba is one of those people who like to call themselves a "snuggler" but which I like to refer to as "a human straightjacket." He likes to get right next to me and fling some random body part around me. He claims it is for warmth. But it drives me nuts. I feel like I have a ten ton blanket around me, and I like to be unencumbered while I am sleeping.

That brings us to the "Crazy Legs" part. Wow, I'm on a roll here with the quotation marks. I don't know if what he has is legitimate Restless Leg Syndrome, but it's mighty damn close. Not only does he shake his legs while falling asleep, they jerk around all night. He was been known on rare occasions to kick me. He says he's fully asleep when this happens, but I have my suspicions.

For whatever reason, I tend to get hot under the covers. No, not a double entendre, just that sometimes at night I will be so overheated that I have to throw off my covers and cool off for a couple of minutes. However, next to me lies Nanook of the North, with our heavy comfortor folded doubly so that he gets like, four more times the warmth that I do with just two Vellux blankets. Yet, he is still cold and will try to use me to leech even more warmth.

Then, the breathing. Listen, I just don't like people breathing on me. I am sure that makes me a big freak. I'm ok with the label, as long as the person I am in bed with is not facing me and breathing on me. I don't even particularly like it when Mr. P breathes on me, which makes me feel not-so-motherly, but what else am I supposed to do?

Mabye Ricky and Lucy were on to something.

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