My bed buddy and me

Before I even get started, I want to say something very important and very true: I adore my husband. He is amazing in every sense of the word and I would never ever ever trade him. Even for someone who stays on their own darn side of the bed.

Which leads me to something else very true: the man is a big stinking bed hog. I have pictures to prove it.

See, once upon a time, I got married and learned to share sleeping space. Three moves and no money later, a friend took pity on our poor souls and lent us a bed for six months - six long, horrible, agonizing months, because the bed was a double. This is how things went with the double:



Another move and a furnished apartment landed us with yet another double bed. (Who do they think they're kidding with the word double, anyway? Fools.)



The next move included guardian angels (and a larger paycheck) because we had ourselves a queen. Finally, wedded bliss would be mine! Alas, my designated portion of the bed is to the left of the dotted line. I knew I should have pushed harder for the king!



If I roll over in the night and end up close to the spot where the dotted line should be, if the world were good and fair, I get shoved back to my rightful spot. If I elbow my dear spouse in the nose because I don't have enough room to change positions, he growls at me. And if I try to gently reason with the love of my life, telling him that the extra foot and a half on his other side could be put to good use, I am accused of being dramatic. But I think I have the solution.



Ah, duct tape. It really does fix everything.