Pulling Away From The Cuddle

When we go to bed every night, Yvonne and I cuddle. My arm goes around her lower back, our legs intertwine, her hand touches my face. It is a very comfortable position…for about fifteen seconds. 

Then it begins. 

Yvonne has an overwhelming need to scratch her nose every 7.5 seconds. I have a need to twirl around from lying on my right side to my left side. I become a human rotisserie and she is hell bent, without spite, on yanking the nose off of her face. 

Yvonne goes into spasm mode as she enters REM so the hand on my face becomes a deadly weapon against my eyes as her body leaps off the bed. I’ve been poked in the eyes more than once, so much so that I am now sleeping with a face mask covering my two necessary orbs. 

As eyeless Zorro and convulsive Regan McNiel do the bedroom sleep dance, the night continues but not without its share of noise. 

Of course we have a soundtrack for our sleep. 

Yvonne speaks in full sentences to whomever her dream partners happen to be and I whistle in lieu of an all out snore.  Between my happy tune and her incessant dialogue, we are playing in an episode of Gilmore Girls all night with both of us wanting to be Lorelei. 

It’s a wonder we sleep at all. 

Interestingly enough, in the morning, after the  possessed girl, the Spanish hero, the symphony of noise and the Loreleis have exited our room, we awake with my arm around her lower back, our legs intertwined and her hand on my face. 

We are a brave lot and it is a testament to our marriage that we have survived demonic possession, attempted ocular maiming and crosstalk.  

We can get through anything, as long as each night we pull away from the cuddle and make our way back to each other by morning. 



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