A Little Less Bob and Emily, A Little More Rob and Laura

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I used to wonder why my parents took separate bedrooms after all the kids moved out of the house. Not to share too many of their secrets, but I think it had something to do with the fact that Dad worked different shifts and he snored in a way that made Fred Flintstone's snore sound charming.

I think the first real shift happened after they realized the waterbed was a huge mistake. Funny how when MathMan and I were first married, my parents offered us the use of their room during our visits. Meanwhile they retired to my and my brother's former bedrooms. What I remember most about trying to sleep on that waterbed with a bedfellow was repeating the phrase "We must be doing it wrong because I do not understand the appeal."

At least my parents got a decent night's rest. Unless, of course, they heard the shouts of "I'm hanging ten!" because we were newlyweds, after all.

No matter, my parents discovered the joy of sleeping alone again and they never turned back.

Now I understand. I love my husband. I love being close to him, I love a before sleep cuddle, but I am so ready to have my own bedroom, or at the very least, my own bed. Our mattress is in desperate need of replacement and when there is finally enough money to purchase one, I'm proposing we go with the Rob and Laura Petrie twin set.

Just imagine, no fighting over the covers, no sheets being pulled all cattywampus by someone who likes to cocoon himself, no hot breath on your neck, no garlic laced burps, no chest hairs tickling your back, no playing Did You Do That? or Dutch Oven. No tangled limbs, no elbows up the nose, no fussing about who is sleeping in the middle of the bed while someone else is relegated to a tiny corner of the mattress and look, I made an outline like at a crime scene to prove it!

I could even wrestle with my pillows on a sleepless night without waking my darling. Hell, when I'm really having trouble sleeping, I could watch TV or read without leaving the bed or without having someone give me the mole-eyed grumpface and heavy sigh routine.

This idea has promise. We'll be better rested. We can place the beds side to side with a swell little table between them just like the Petries and burn extra calories jumping from bed to bed. I haven't done that since I was a kid. We can push the beds together when we feel like it or play eenie meenie miney moe to decide which bed will be that morning's playground. Yes, I said morning. It's how we roll in the hay.

Speaking of - the last couple of mornings I've awakened to find MathMan's pillow over my face. After a brief struggle, I realized that it wasn't a murder pillow, it was an abandoned pillow. Nevertheless, it's a rough way to start the day and I'm not completely convinced that he wasn't as some point holding that pillow in place. When I confronted him about it he looked away and whistled. If my cartoon symbolism is up to snuff, that means a he's lying.

There's also the issue of MathMan's limbs which seem most content when draped over me, pinning me to the mattress so that I can't shift without waking him and if I wake him, we're likely to have that tiresome conversation again about why don't we try sex at 3a.m. instead of 7a.m. all the while some of my body parts are tingling not because of a happy rush of blood, but because they've been deprived of circulation.

MathMan is never satisfied with my response that I don't do anything well at 3 a.m. so I try to distract him with humor. "You don't want me to just lie there and giggle, do you?"

"Couldn't you work in an occasional 'Oh, god, oh, god?'"

"At 3a.m.? You must be dreaming."

"If I were dreaming your panties would be off already."

Maybe I should start snoring.