Another victory for the single-slice toaster

I am not a cuddler in bed.  I don't mind brief periods of cuddling, but for the most part, I don't like being touched in my sleep.  

I have so many friends who talk about how hard it is for them to sleep when their husbands are out of town and they're all alone in the bed.  I can't relate at all.  To me, having the bed to myself -- as well as all the pillows, particularly at this point, when I arrange about 4 them, plus my Snoogle, around me to get even remotely comfortable -- is the picture of bliss.  It's the one positive aspect of Jason being out of town during the week.

Some of it is that it's hard for me to get settled in bed.  I need to be physically arranged just-so, with pillows strategically placed to alleviate pressure on my back (which is a little twinge-y), and if someone is trying to arrange their body around me, the weight of a leg or an arm can throw everything off.  

Much of it is that I am an incredibly warm sleeper.  I generate enormous amounts of heat.  When I was growing up, my mother used to crawl into bed with me on cold winter mornings and stick her cold feet on me to warm up.  Whereas many women perpetually suffer from having cold feet, I always have warm feet.  Unless it's below 40 degrees in the room, my feet will be sticking out from under the blankets.

So adding someone else's body heat to my own can make things stifling for both parties.  I once dated a guy who would put a king-sized pillow length-wise between us as a heat shield.  

"Nothing personal, sweetie," he'd say.

"It's OK.  I understand," I'd respond.

Jason is a cuddler.  And a bit of an overwhelming one.  He'll settle himself in against my back and throw a leg over me.  He has big, strong, muscular legs, and they're heavy.

It's not terribly comfortable.  "Honey, this isn't working for me."

"That's a shame, baby, because it's working great for me."

I don't put up much of a fuss, though, because I know he won't be able to take the heat for long. After a few minutes, he'll scoot back over to his side of the bed.

"Jesus, your ass is like a single-slice toaster.  I'm roasting."

"Mmm-hmmm," I'll reply.  "'Night, babe."

Some nights -- OK, many nights, because I'm a pussy and I'd rather get back to sleep quickly than listen to him cry -- I'll let Zeke come into bed with me at around 3 in the morning.  Sometimes he'll sprawl and move around, the way little kids do, but most nights he settles in and sleeps relatively unobtrusively.

But the other night, just like his father, he nestled himself up against my back, with his face pressed up against my shoulder blades.

"Cute," I thought to myself.  

Then, just like his father, he threw a leg over me.  Which, given that my body is obviously much wider than his, took some effort on his part, because it meant having to reach his leg up high to get it settled.

"Mmm-hmmm," I thought.  "He'll learn."

And just like his daddy, he did.  He returned to his spot in the bed within 5 minutes.