Get Off of Me, Would ‘Ya?

Peter is a “cuddler”.

Yes, a cuddler. One of those fabulous type of creatures that loves to be tucked up close and personal-like with his nose planted firmly in my hair because he “loves the way it smells”, his arms wrapped tightly under my breasts, and his legs all tangled up with mine.

It’s so sweet.

I hate it.

Don’t get me wrong… The sentiment behind it is truly beautiful and flattering to no end; but the man is heavy, and I can’t breathe. Hell, even if I could, we’d still be facing the major obstacle that is me hating to be stuck beneath/beside/over/around another human being. . .

This is why I don’t co-sleep with my babies. Well, that and the fact that everyone in my house other than myself, of course, projects an ungodly amount of body heat hot enough to inflict sunburns of the most painful sorts. (I probably should mention that I take the term “fair-skinned” to an entirely different realm and literally glow in the dark. So, these burns are not, in fact, an imagined impossibility pulled from the crazy place that is my head.)

Oh. And our marriage bed just so happens to be part of a stunning antique bedroom suit from the turn of the twentieth century. Peter claims that I wouldn’t “complain” so much if we moved up to a queen from our sad little full sized (the unwanted modernization of the entire furniture scheme implied) . I claim that the age-old theory of beauty before function would work just perfectly in this matter if he’d simply keep his big paws on his side of the bed.

Luckily, I ran across these today, and hope has once agin dared to briefly raise its down-trodden head:

Of course, they’ll never work… but a girl’s gotta dream.

February 23, 2007
Categories: Daily


1.©2007 by Courtney Hebert as Judith Shakespeare.
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