I live with a bed hog.
The worse kind.
He is a bed hog that projects his hogginess onto me.
We have a full bed. I had a queen size back in America that was all mine except for those relatively rare moments when it was shared with a boy.
I have had a couple of boyfriends over the years with futons (why any man still has futon in his thirties is a subject for another post) and my joints still haven’t recovered.
A couple of nights ago, I woke up to Stuart snorting with annoyance as he pushed my feet aside. I looked down and I was against the edge of the bed and he was sleeping, as he would say, star shaped diagonal corner to corner.
I squeaked, “Stuart!”
He looked down. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”
Another move he has (which is really sweet actually) is I wake up to him cuddled up to me holding me like a teddy bear. The problem is he is using my head as a pillow.
In the morning before he leaves for work, he tucks the ends of the comforter around my feet and hands, strokes my hair and kisses my forehead, my nose.
I stretch out invading the entire bed. As he shuts the door he mumbles, “Bed hog. . .”
March 23rd, 2006 at 4:53 pm
I’m so glad I sleep on my side and only take up too much room because I like to snuggle…