Wednesday, March 22, 2006


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. . ."


At 3/23/2006 04:53:00 PM, Blogger Expat Traveler said...

I'm so glad I sleep on my side and only take up too much room because I like to snuggle...


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