Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

The man I sleep with (That would be Earl.) and I have different sleeping habits. I would like to believe this doesn’t impact the time we spend in bed, but secretly I know it impacts mine.

I was brought up to make my bed every day and to make it almost in military style.  You know, where you could bounce a quarter off the top layer. My Mother was a nurse in the days before contour sheets, and she taught me the rudiments of triangular corners. Bouncing quarters was not a problem.

I’m not sure if Earl’s mother taught him anything along these lines.  Maybe she even made his bed.  I only know that today Earl thinks nothing of crawling into a bed that hasn’t been made for two days, while I cringe at the thought.  Triangular corners still haunt me.

I’m willing to take on the assignment of Bed Maker par excellence, but there are other issues.

I like my covers tightly tucked in; Earl doesn’t.

I sleep quietly, rolling over occasionally without mussing anything. Earl the Dervish thrashes around and rolls the covers with him.

I pretty much stay in one spot; Earl wouldn’t dream of such a thing.  Which is why I sometimes cling to the edge of the bed and ponder the distance from it to the floor.

I like quiet; Earl enjoys the sound of the ceiling fan.

I fall asleep quickly; You-know-who does not. Unless he’s taking an afternoon nap in his recliner.

If ever there were two unsuited bed mates, it seems to be us.  Except that we have one important thing in common that overshadows all other issues and could be a dealbreaker.

Neither of us snores.