Double trouble in the bedroom

My wife and I visited some friends last week for a quick twonight trip. When they graciously showed us to our room, we were not pleased.

It’s not that the room was ugly. On the contrary, it was bright, sunny and beautifully decorated (or so I’m told). The problem was the bed. It wasn’t a king, it wasn’t even a queen — it was the dreaded double.

“Looks like we’re not going to get much sleep,” I miserably said to my wife when our friends left us alone to unpack.

“Maybe we should take shifts,” she replied, only half-kidding. “I’ll take 11 to 3, you take 3 to 7.”

I scanned the bed with my suddenly sleepy eyes. It had some fancy bedposts and headboard and a bunch of fluffy pillows and blankets. It looked very comfortable. FOR ONE PERSON!

“This could get ugly,” I surmised, glancing lovingly at my wife. “Maybe you should sleep on the floor.”

I secretly knew that wasn’t going to happen. Like most married couples, we insisted on sleeping together, no matter how miserable we might be. We were both afraid to take the drastic step of voluntarily sleeping in separate rooms or separate beds for fear we’d like it too much.

And besides, we like sleeping together. We like being close to each other. Just not all night long.

There was a time, when we were in our 20s, that being wrapped together all night was absolute bliss. In fact, for the first couple of years of our marriage, we slept in a SINGLE bed.

We’d wake up in the morning twisted together like a pretzel, and loved every minute of it. But as the years flew by, so did our youthful exuberance, replaced by the inevitable need for space.

The single bed became a double, then a queen, then a king, then, finally, a California King. If they had a Prairie King, or a Moonscape King, or a Bonneville Salt Flats King, we would have moved on to that, too.

The main thing is that we continued, and will always continue, to share a bed. The only exception is when we check into a hotel and the only room available is one with two double beds. When the hotel clerk asks if that would be OK with us, we look at each other and simultaneously give a fist pump.

In this case, though, two beds were not an option. We were going to spend the next two nights fighting for space, and there was no way around it. We had dinner with our hosts and drank some wine to dull the oncoming pain, and then went to bed.

My wife turned off the light and climbed onto her side of the double, and was asleep within minutes. I came out of the bathroom, plopped onto my side, and turned on the tiny reading light on the nightstand.

I know I’ve said this before, but I might as well have set off a nuclear bomb. “You can’t be serious,” she cried, suddenly awake. “You’re going to read now?”

We were off to a great start. I always read when I get in bed, but usually she’s about 20 yards away on the other side of our California King, so it only bothers her a little bit. This was different.

“Forget it,” I moaned, shutting off the light. “I’ll just toss and turn for a few hours instead.”

As I tried to get comfortable, the cries of desperation became more prevalent from the other “side” of the bed. Again, bouncing around on one side of a California King creates a ripple. Bouncing around on a double is more like a tsunami.

And I can really bounce. When I turn over in bed, it’s a production. As I began my nightly ritual, my wife was not happy. Unfortunately, her snorts and sighs were keeping me awake. It was a vicious cycle.

Finally, I got comfortable. I was practically hanging off my side of the bed, and I could feel some space between us. I was just about to drift off when my wife moved and I felt her leg rub up against mine. She was way too close.

“Move over, please,” I asked, very politely. “I’m practically falling off the bed.”

For some reason, that plea didn’t work. In fact, it gave her a good idea.

We were both afraid to take the drastic step of voluntarily sleeping in separate rooms or separate beds for fear we’d like it too much.