Throughout our long marriage, my husband has always been the covers snatcher. When he tosses and turns, he does it clockwise, which spins the covers onto him and away from me. I can't count the number of times I've woken up in the middle of the night, stripped of my blankets and on the verge of hypothermia. (Did I mention he also likes to sleep with the windows open and fan on, year-round? Oh, the things we do for love.)
Once I said to him, "You should learn to spin counter-clockwise. Then I'd have covers in the morning."
His response, "Why would I do that? Then I'd be cold." Then he ducked, because he correctly intuited that I was going to punch him.
We have been married a long time.
Oddly, though, in the past few weeks, the covers have been ending up on my side of the bed. And not just on my side, but spilling over all the way to the floor. And I just assumed that his loving subconscious had taken my counter-clockwise spin suggestion to heart. At least until he went off on a business trip this week.
Each morning he's been gone, I've found myself pulling the covers up off the floor on MY side. And not only that, last night I discovered a six-inch rip in the bottom sheet, my side, presumably from all my tossing and turning.
I blame the bizarre dreams I've been having. Because I'm pretty sure that chocolate-covered green onions and licorice recycling will do that to a person.
P.S. Since I wrote my pantyhose post yesterday, I've had four visitors who were searching for "pantyhose." Two from Beijing (different IP addresses, so presumably different people), one from Romania and one from the US.
Somehow I don't think they were looking for stories about pantyhose as it relates to manly Italian boxers.
But I could be wrong.
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