My Warrior Name is Big Spoon

When hubs and I first “hooked up” he had a king sized bed. I can’t really call it a bed; he had a king sized mattress on the floor in his bedroom (read: Bachelor Pad). I loved that bed; plenty of room to spread out and get comfy, but you could still meet in the middle when you wanted.

When it came time to move hubs out of his house and into my place, the relationship I once had with the king changed. You see back then, hubs and I moved ourselves; we were not as fortunate as we are today to have selfless friends and family that are willing to spend an afternoon sweating and grunting while breaking their backs to help us move. Back then, we did not have the smarts, or funds, to hire two convicts and a truck to pack the truck for us. Back then, it was me and the mattress. After wrestling with the king for what seemed like nearly eternity, I convinced the man that the best, if not only way to get it out of the house was through the window; and its landing spot became its resting spot.

Upon moving in with me, hubs had no choice but to accept his fate; he would have to sleep on a queen mattress. As far as I am concerned the queen offers more possibilities than the king to meet in the middle when we choose. If you ask Brad though, he doesn’t really get his own space. He swears he has about two inches on his side of the bed.

There is a perfect explanation for this; I am a snuggler. Not the “hold me” kind of snuggler mind you; I just like to have some part of my body touching his while we sleep. An ankle over his ankle would suffice but that is just not conducive to sleeping on my side (and isn’t it all about me?). So we spoon; Brad clinging to the edge of the bed and me breathing down his neck. Paints quite the picture doesn’t it? Hubs would be perfectly content if we did not touch at all while sleeping; he claims I give off too much body heat or something lame like that.

Funny thing is, I sleep so much better when Brad is gone. I wake up in the exact same position I fell asleep and barely have to make the bed due to lack of ruffled covers. When Brad is home; we toss and turn and the covers are all tangled and twisted. As a neurotic bed maker it drives me nuts. Maybe I am unconsciously getting back at him by only giving him two inches of space in the bed?

In every relationship there is a big spoon and a little spoon. I happen to be the big spoon. Which are you?