My husband is a sheet wrestler. In the morning, when the bed-making task inevitably falls to me, the aftermath of his good night’s sleep looks like a war zone.
He pummels his pillow – the special one, with its cooling qualities, that we paid over a hundred bucks for – as if it were an enemy. The fitted bottom sheet has hiked up like a hooker’s skirts, both sheets’ ample evidence of his tossing and turning. Throughout the night, he throws back the top sheets when he reportedly feels too hot, then pulls them back up when he feels chilled. All without wakening, so all is accomplished in stealth.
How do I know? Like all older peeps, I wake up a couple of times to pee, so I witness the sheets’ state.
He doesn’t report having bad dreams, so deploying pillows as weaponry against foes can’t be the cause. Additionally, we have just purchased a premium mattress that’s as “just right” as the one Goldilocks requisitioned from Baby Bear, so that potential source of sleepaches is obviated.
While our doodle likes to jump up on the bed for pre-sleep cuddles, he soon jumps down to his “just right” mattress nearby our bed on the floor.
Meanwhile, I remain inert in a single patch of mattress while my legs deploy themselves in involuntary muscle spasms due to my partial stiff person syndrome. My knees are the prime culprits in the apparent autoimmune war my body has fallen victim to. Except for the depression my head has made on my “just right” pillow, my body has made little imprint on our sheets.
As they say, opposites attract. Who knew evidence would surface in how we sleep each night?
Here’s my sign… in addition to an end to my uncommon muscle spasms.
Sadly, neither will happen.
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