Brendan flails...Brendan moans...he punches, kicks, and ends up mummified in sheet. The dreams he must be having...the wedgies he must be getting. The bruises I have suffered (and not the kinky kind)
Then there are the cats. My little "men" in fur pajamas. Gus (purrrrr) and Max (lick lick lick). They take up...well any flippin' part of the bed they want. Obviously! On my chest, behind my knees, on my feet, or sidled up to my side. Little furnaces...my personal feet warmers...my early morning (or anytime they want to ) wake up call.
It was a constant Battle of the Bed. I lost. I hugged the edge, ate sides of cat hair as a bed time snack....I complained...A LOT...we got a KING!!!!!
The theory behind the King size bed was perfectly logical. More room for Brendan...more room for me...the leftovers for Max and Gus. Ha Ha Ha. Someone didn't get the memo (hint: Brendan, Max, and Gus).
There is now a chasm of King between Brendan and me. I can make sheet angels and still not touch him. Though...he still does he nighttime Hokey Pokey...and ends up with a dazzling boxer filled crack. I miss those first few minutes when he held me.
Gus and Max...my cuddle muffins...my man candy men...they still smother my uneasy slumber and cat hair coat my tongue. I just can't bear to kick them out. They love me...they really love me...when I feed them.
We used to cuddle, we used to spoon. Then we got a KING size bed...and though I am less bruised and battered...I miss the tangled mess of my "family"...in the bed with no f*ckin' room.
That's all for now,
Brandi
1 comment:
Then, just roll everyone into Brendan's corner of the bed at first and snuggle...then when u r ready to be comfortable, just roll back onto your *free* side of the bed. Hehe, just kidding ;-)
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