The room is dim. As you enter, your senses are overwhelmed with the sights and sounds of a typical Friday night. You feel confident. As you casually scan the room, looking over the forms that move dimly ahead of you, your eyes lock with another pair of eyes that are searching for the same thing. Fireworks explode, chimes ding, hearts sing. You have found your soul mate.
It’s a little while (minutes, days, weeks, months, years, take your pick) later that the confidence you felt that night is put to the test for the first time. Forget all that has transpired during the courtship; the home cooked meal that was successfully executed without a trip to the emergency room and the fact that your newly beloved doesn’t have a search warrant or three. Put that all aside, for it’s time to get into bed together.
You approach the bed and make your way to “your side”. He approaches the bed and makes his way to “his side”. And you hope and pray and get all sweaty nervous that the “two” sides are not the “same” side. It’s make it or break it time. Will he hop on my side of the bed? Is this a weird game of musical chairs?
Where is it written that a married/committed/adulterous/take your pick couple must spend the entire night together? Who’s idea was it anyways? Don’t get me wrong, I understand the theory behind sharing a bed. You hit the sheets, mess them up a lot with some wild action and then snuggle up next to each other in contentment, spoon style, and visit Mr. Sandman together. But does it really happen that way? More times than not Earl and I sleep very contently together, so I guess it’s a good thing. There are other times, though that he keeps me very much awake or vice versa. Once in a while he wakes up to find me sleepwalking and he has to steer me back to bed. Occasionally his CPAP machine blows a gale force wind that parts my eyebrows. But truth be known I wouldn’t change it for anything. I knew it would work out o.k., you see Earl and I went to opposite sides of the bed that first night. There’s only one side of the bed that’s my side of the bed and that’s my side of the bed (unless I’m sandwiched inside a group, but that’s a different tale I’ll save for another time)! Just for kicks we tried to switch sides one night early in our relationship and that was a complete disaster. Sheets flew, nightstands danced, the headboard was jarred, I had his knee in my groin and Tom didn’t know who’s ass to bounce off of as he made his way for the windowsill. We vowed to never do that again and nearly 12 years later I think this is the first time I’ve mustered enough courage to mention it.
Looking back, I think my grandparents were on to something with their custom made bed: I believe it was two queen sized mattresses placed side by side with a common set of sheets. It was the only way that she could tolerate his snoring; in a bed that size she was in the next zip code.
Truth be known I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Just a little extra shut-eye once in a while.
