I don’t sleep with a lot of people. Literally.
I feel like my bed is a fluffy, sacred, private space where I should be allowed to drunkenly (or soberly) faceplant and drool on my pillow if I so desire. Sure, it can be a fun place to roll around with members of the opposite sex from time to time, but once that’s over with, I’m just like get out, get out, get OUT.
Metal in my mouth.
After several extremely awkward years with a mouthful of braces, I’m something of a fanatic when it comes to maintaining perfectly straight teeth. I refuse to wear my retainers during daylight hours though, so as a begrudging compromise with my orthodontist, I’ve adopted a 4-nights-a-week retainer regimen. Bedtime for me is a very unsexy time involving a lot of mouth gear.
Ya gotta preserve those pearly whites, but I make for a very unattractive bed partner.
Too many body parts.
When there’s someone else between my sheets, they toss and turn and move and kick and sweat and get in my way. They shove the covers down and steal the good pillow and rub their hairy legs up against mine. Sometimes they have cold, clammy feet. Other times they have knobby, jutting knees. In a full-sized bed it feels like there are too many limbs and not enough mattress and I just can’t deal.
I need my beauty sleep.
I know, I know, it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.
When someone else is there, they want to talk to you, and kiss you, and snuggle you. My arm falls asleep, my foot falls asleep, my HAIR probably falls asleep, but I CAN’T FUCKING FALL ASLEEP.
I lie there, half breathing, half not; licking my lips, feeling beads of sweat drip down my ass, trying OH SO HARD not to hate the person who’s depriving me of my slumber. Eventually I’ll drift off, but I’ll drift off mad. Furious. I fall asleep just knowing I’ll be cranky in the morning. Grrr.
The uncomfortable morning after.
I HATE when someone is there in the morning. The grass is green, the sun in shining, the world beckons, and the boy in my bed just wants to fuck.
Just because you’re raring to go at sunrise doesn’t mean it’s okay to cram your stinky tongue in my mouth. I do not find that to be a particularly pleasant way to start the day.
The mystery is gone.
Once you’ve slept together… and then actually slept together, there is literally no mystery left. You know what they look like, taste like, smell like. You fall into a routine of staying over at each other’s places and every week there’s the back and forth and back and forth and “who’s apartment are we staying at tonight?” and “do I have clothes for work tomorrow?” and “why didn’t you buy more milk for breakfast?” and suddenly you’re in this incredibly predictable routine of sameness and nothing is ever sexy and sparkling and new ever again and I think that’s sad.
But that’s just me.
These are just my irrational, anti-social bedroom beliefs and probably the reason why I’m fast approaching 27 and pathetically boyfriendless and alone.
Or maybe there are others who feel the same way?