People make a very big deal about the *other* stuff that may happen in the bedroom, not realizing that sleeping can be a far bigger issue than anything that happens when you're not sleeping.
For example: I steal covers.
I admit it. I do it, and I can't stop. Sven loves to tell the story of how once, when we were dating, we were curled up on the sofa watching a movie, and I took the blanket off of him and just pushed it to the side.
"If you were hot," he asked me, perplexed, "why wouldn't you just push the covers off? Why did you have to take my cover?"
"I don't know," I answered. "I was asleep."
The next time, we each had our own blanket. That time, I took the blanket off of Sven and tossed it to the side of the couch, out of his reach. Still while sleeping.
This problem didn't get better after we married. No matter what arrangements we made before bedtime, morning would find Sven shivering with cold while I clutched upwards of four quilts and a comforter to my overheated bosom.
Finally, Sven developed what I like to call defensive sleeping. When he gets into bed, he does a complex maneuver that is part Baryshnikov, part Ninja, that results in his quilt becoming wrapped around his body in a manner so intricate even he can't extricate himself.
It works for us.
Proximity is also an issue. Some people like to cuddle when they sleep. Not us. Sven and I like our space. The problem is, I often take up more space than even I would believe possible. The other night, Sven woke me up to point out my position on the bed. I was literally diagonal, with my arms and legs outstretched, as though I was deliberately trying to prevent anyone else from sleeping on our king-sized bed.
I was asleep.
Nighttime poking can also be a problem. For a very tense few months, I kept poking my fingers into Sven's eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.
"Mmmph?" I would hear. I would awake, blearily aware that my fingers were warm, to see them in Sven's mouth.
I was asleep.
For the record, I also snore (during allergy season), talk (during crazy season), and walk (during testing season) in my sleep. (I don't get out of the bed and walk, I just move my feet back and forth as though I were walking.)
Now I'm depressed. If Sven ever leaves me, it won't be for a younger, prettier, thinner girl. It will be for a girl who can stay on her side of the bed and keep her hands to herself.
But where would the fun be in that?
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