Yesterday, I wrote a delightful piece about how wonderful it is for my wife to go away. Of course, I didn’t say it that way. I’m a much more gentle and loving person than that. Plus, that would be a terrible blog post. Can you imagine reading a post called “I Hate My Wife and Wish She Would Vanish?” That would not be my best work.
Despite the loving and delightful tone that I used, it seems that my wife had a few issues with what I had written. For one, she did not appreciate me comparing her to a She-Hulk. She also thought that being associated with such a poor post was not, in her own words, “something any person alive or dead would ever want for themselves, ever.”*
Mostly, though, she disagreed with the notion that she takes up a large amount of space, meaning she disagreed with the main thesis of my post. While I thought it was a bit rude to call me a huge liar, I decided to give her the opportunity to defend herself:
This is the wife speaking. In the past, I have been misrepresented in my husband’s blog. I have been able to let these go and laugh it all off. Yesterday’s post, however, was such a gross misrepresentation of our sleeping arrangement that I feel the need to point out my side of this continuing argument.
Now, I am willing to give him the couch thing. While watching TV and movies, I like to lay on the couch with a blanket tucked under my chin, in perfect position to doze off into a nap if the feeling arises. But his complaints of me taking more than my fare share of the bed are unfounded.
For those of you who do not know me, let me point out the fact that I am a very small person. My husband often refers to me as his “Lilliputian wife.” I am five foot, and weigh 120 pounds. In order for me to take up as much space on the bed as he claims, I would have to lay sprawled on my back in da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man fashion. Having slept in a twin size bed my entire single life, I prefer to lay at the edge of the bed, curled in a ball with the corner of the comforter tucked under my chin.
Now, granted, my back side is a little larger than some, and lying in this position protrudes it out even farther, but even so, I come to the center of the bed, the cut off point of “my side” of the bed.
Throughout the night, however, my husband seems to inch his way over to the center of the bed, throwing elbows along his way. It is not uncommon for me to wake up in the middle of the night, and find a very pointy elbow resting just short of my eye socket, or sometime on my check. Other times I will wake up to my pillow being scrunched up like an accordion with his pillow, and arm, underneath it. When these things occur, I have to shove him back over to his side, at which point he groans and complains that I’m taking up his space.
While we are discussing problems sharing the bed, let’s point out the comforter hogging situation.
My mother-in-law made our comforter. Therein lies most of the problem. No, the problem is not that my mother-in-law made it. I very much love my mother-in-law and the comforter she made to keep us warm. The problem is that we measured it to fit our queen size bed exactly. This being the case, when my husband crawls into bed and, what I lovingly refer to as, mummifies himself, an act that consists of positioning his arms outside the comforter, then pushing them up under his body, the perfect amount of comforter that was once covering me slowly creeps away from me and underneath his body. As a way of gently reminding him that I also need to be covered, I grab my edge of the comforter, and pull with all of my might, thus freeing the once tucked comforter and re-covering my once exposed back side. As an ever-so-loving response to this, he pulls back, and a married version of tug-o-war commences. I’m not sure if we just stretch it out or if it just shifts, but eventually it settles somewhere in the middle and we can both at least be satisfied, if not happy with the amount of comforter we end up with for the night.
I must say, that I really do love my husband, and am, most days anyway, happy with my choice of a life partner. He makes me laugh, cuddles with me on the couch, watches movies that he hates, and brings me ice cream when I’m sick. Other than the bed situation, though, I’m pretty happy.
…With the exception of him leaving whiskers and toothpaste splatters on the bathroom sink and clothes all over the floor and his lack of interest in doing dishes or laundry… but that is another post, for another time.
*Not actually her own words.