Lots of room on the floor

When I was a baby there were no other babies around to encroach upon my territory at naptime. I’m pretty sure that had their been I would have stood firm, soother raised high as my sword and a Sippy cup shield, ready to defend my land, my domain, my crib. As a toddler, too big and too skilled at climbing to remain in a crib I graduated to my first bed and once again not a soul in sight to engage in an all night war over my Spiderman blanket. The blanket and teddy bears were all mine. A few short years later that bed morphed into a bunk bed and although I now had my brothers snoring to endure I did not have to share that bottom bunk, it was my own private Eden….especially when I discovered masturbation but that’s another story.

One day we had either grown too big or had finally broken down our parent’s patience with our incessant talking and playing after bedtime and were rewarded with our own bedrooms. By this point I had already grown accustomed to my total dominance over my bed having slept alone for 9 years. The following 9 years were more of the same; with the exception of several sticky magazines and much later the occasional female companion snuck through the bedroom window I had the bed to myself every night. With almost twenty years of nightly confirmation I hold fast to the belief that we are simply not meant to share a bed with another human…my wife however does not agree.

Even now 15 years after moving in with my wife I am not used to sharing a bed. I don’t want to get used to it. I don’t like it. I want her out!!! Not only do I want my own bed I want my own bedroom. My Iron Maiden posters have been replaced with art! My lava lamp has long since been retired, the victim of a “accident”, or so she says. The sweat socks and hand lotion smell has been replaced by incense and potpourri.

What sick person came up with this any way? Why would you want to give up half of your own personal Eden? I don’t know how she manages it but she always ends up with the side of the bed that I want….but that’s probably because I want both sides. The half conscious battle of tug of war which is slyly played out through the night is tiring. I think I get more exercise trying to hang on to my sliver of blanket then I do on any elliptical trainer. Oh and she’s sneaky about it too….a slight adjustment to the blanket….she never takes more than a quarter inch at a time but without fail I wake up at 3:00 am with only one toe covered.

Just try to get that blanket back, for some reason she’s now wrapped up in a cocoon state, I have to lift her up and squeeze her out like toothpaste. And she wouldn’t wake up if the baby started screaming and shooting her with a paintball gun but if I try to sneak a quick masturbation session out suddenly she’s wide awake, “What are you doing?....stop moving so much”……”I’m not doing anything….I’m just trying to…ahh….im just trying to…get……..comfortable”. “Well don’t get any on me”. Fuck, busted again.

It wouldn’t be so bad sharing the bed if she didn’t move around so much. Every night it’s like she’s practicing for dancing with the stars. I gotta wear a jock to bed just to ensure im not woken up with a spinning heel kick right in the hamster. She claims she’s not aware of this movement but I think it’s her way to get back at me for not doing the dishes or leaving a shirt on the floor. I just know she’s wide awake and starts beating the hell out of me to balance out those forgotten anniversaries.

She talks in her sleep too, which again not so bad if she didn’t speak Swahili. She’s fluent in 12 different languages but only when she’s asleep. And when she does speak English it never makes any god damn sense what so ever. “Don’t forget to take the zoo back to the landing pad”, “Charlie needs a new one”…..I try at times to figure out what she’s going on about, “Who the fuck is Charlie” and she replies, “Yes I know, me too”.

Please tell me Im not the only one who has to endure this. I don’t even really snore I just throw the noise at her in the hope that she’ll cave in and go find a sofa. It’s gotten so bad I don’t even want her in the bed before, during or after sex. And by the way why the hell did I buy a queen size bed any way? I end up with one leg and my head on the bed and the rest hanging off the side while she’s snuggled right in next to me. She has one foot snuggled and resting peacefully in the crack of my ass, an elbow in my neck and 6 feet of free space on the other side of her. “ummm honey can you move over a bit I need some room”……”I can't...Im already on the edge as it is”…..”Well if that’s true can you lay lengthwise instead of across the bed, we look like the letter T”.

Like everything else in marriage, you have to learn to compromise. She has 97 percent of the bed but I get to keep my Spiderman blanket. It’s a small victory but a glimmer of hope, the battle is over but the war is not.