I mean it. I’m dangerous. You probably are, too. In fact, it baffles me that we as a society seem to think that sharing a bed is necessary. (Wait, you thought I was talking about something else? You’re a pervert.)
You see, when we’re sleeping, we’re not good at making decisions and seeing the affects they have. Because, you know, we’re not conscious. And even if we wake up for a moment, we’re still sleep-addled enough to fuck everything up. I’m going to give you a few examples from my own life to illustrate just how stupid it is that we share beds with anyone ever.
About 4ish years ago, I went to a convention with a friend whom I am going to call “Twyla” because I was playing around with Random Name Generator and apparently that’s a name. (Note: do not name your children Twyla.) So Twyla and I, being poor college students who would much rather spend our money on corsets (that was me) and plushies (I don’t actually remember what she bought) than a hotel, we stayed with some of her family who lived nearby. They had a spare room with a bed, which was either double- or queen-sized. Used to our dorm beds, this larger bed seemed like a wonderful extravagance, even considering the fact that we’d be sharing it.
So, come bedtime, Twyla and I lay ourselves down on our respective sides of the bed, ready for a night of sleep that isn’t on a dorm bed. Little did she know, sleeping me is a bitchy 3 year old. You’ve heard stories about people who take all the blankets, right? Maybe you are one of them, or you share a bed with one of them, or one of your friends complains about it. Well. Twyla woke up with only a thin sheet covering her. Most of the time, people don’t realize that they’re stealing the blankets, but I could clearly remember a moment of interruption during my sleep when I woke up, glanced at her, and thought: “She is using my blankets! These blankets are MINE! Why would she use MY blankets? BITCH.” I proceeded to tear them from her, which actually took quite a bit of effort because she sensed what was going on and was clinging to them. If this isn’t assault-y enough for you, know this: it was cold. Poor Twyla.
Fast forward a little. (Not too much. Stop. Rewind a bit. Okay, here. Cool.) I was dating the guy I dated before Mike. His name was Mike. (I’m not kidding. I don’t know very many guys who aren’t named Mike.) Neither of us had anything bigger than a twin bed, but that was okay, because we were totally okay with sharing a twin bed. We managed to find ways to handle it. I could sleep against the wall, and I’d be more likely to nestle into the wall than try to take up all the space on the bed myself, and it worked perfectly. Until, that is, I got a bigger bed. It resulted in the following conversation:
Past-Tense-Mike: Yay, I won’t wake up on the floor anymore!
Me: Uhh. What?
PTM: It’s cool, I usually just get back in bed.
Me: You fall out of bed?
PTM: No, you push me out of bed!
Me: I do NOT push you out of bed.
PTM: You do! I wake up and get back in bed.
Me: WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY ANYTHING?
PTM: It wasn’t a big deal or anything. I just get back in bed.
So, even when your intentions are pure, you’re probably pushing someone out of bed. I can only hope that you’re not on the top bunk.
Okay, now fast forward more, to a few months ago. I’m with Mike now. The right one. Have been for a while. We’re good at this. We are old hands at sharing our sleeping space with each other. I am asleep when suddenly Mike is poking and shaking me.
Mike: Rachael can I have my pillow back?
Mike: Can I have my pillow?
Me: *looks down* OH MY GOD I HAVE YOUR PILLOW.
Mike: Can I have it back?
Me: Where is mine?
Mike: I don’t know. You took mine.
Me: I’M SORRY HOW LONG HAVE I HAD IT?!
Mike: It’s okay. Look, yours is on the floor.
Me: HOW LONG HAVE I HAD YOUR PILLOW.
Mike: Don’t worry about it.
Me: Mike how long have I had it I feel really bad. (Note: at this point, I am almost crying.)
Mike: Only a few minutes.
Apparently, I had thrown my pillow off the bed (I do this regularly) and moved over to share his. He lifted his head up, and BAM. I ninja’d that shit right out from under him. In my fucking sleep.
Mike gets me back, though. Every once in a while, he’ll roll over and fling his arm out so it thumps down on me and pushes all the air out of my lungs. This morning, I woke up to an attempt at sleep-cuddling that involved fists and assault with a deadly…uh…stuffed tiger. I love you, Mike.