It's a slow other news day today. Nothing interesting to report. |
Can we talk for a moment about personal space?
Studies have shown that people require a "zone" of personal
space around them and feel uncomfortable if it is violated. The size
of this zone is different from culture to culture, but all of us have
it.
Here in America it's something like three feet. Each of us carries a
little three-foot-round bubble around with us, into which we'd rather
others didn't stray.
I
have empirical proof that a person can be conditioned so that this zone
gets smaller and smaller until it's virtually nonexistent. I
offer as proof the Family Bed.
I came into this relationship with a nice, healthy, large-ish zone
of personal space. Especially in bed. Before Beth, girlfriends were
cuddled and spooned until they fell asleep, then I quickly scooted to
the opposite side of the bed. I just couldn't sleep with any part of
my body in contact with another.
When
Beth and I first moved in together, we slept in a full-size bed. That's
one step above a single, one step below a double. Basically, that's
a bed big enough for one person. One. In particular, me. Add Beth to
the mix and you've got a crowded bed. The
bed seemed even more crowded when I realized I'd hooked up with a Cuddler.
After
drifting off into slumber, Beth would cuddle up next to me and I'd inch
away. She'd cuddle up again, I'd inch some more.
She'd cuddle again, I'd inch again, and before I knew it I was teetering
on the precipice and she'd be cuddling in for the kill. I spent a lot
of sleepless night at the outset.
I eventually trained her to keep her distance, but then she transmogrified
into a Bed Hog. She wouldn't actually make contact, but she'd invade
The Zone. I'd inch away, she'd inch back in, and pretty soon I'd be
on the precipice again. And she'd be in the middle of the bed.
Eventually we bought a queen-size bed and I thought perhaps my sleepless
nights were over. Wrong. Extra acreage just meant more inching room.
I still ended up sleeping with one cheek hanging. And the Bed Hog had
even more bed to herself.
Then we got a king-size bed and I was happy to learn that Beth was
more of a sprinter in her inching Bed Hog ways. I learned to start out
in the middle, right up next to her, then gradually inch my way over
as she pursued. But thankfully she'd reach her limit before I reached
the edge. She started out quick but didn't have the final kick necessary
to chase me to the end, so I got to get used to sleeping with both cheeks
on the bed again.
But now Zoe has started sleeping with us frequently, and Zoe has inherited
her mother's ways. Zoe's a combination Cuddler/Bed Hog. She cuddles
you until you can't run any further and fall asleep on the edge, then
scoots back over to enjoy nearly half of the bed to herself. Beth owns
half, Zoe owns half, Chuck makes do with the 10 percent right along
the edge.
I used to have a healthy zone of personal space in bed, but they've
beaten me down to the point where I'm happy if even part of my body
isn't draped with part of someone else's.
On the plus side, I've honed my balancing skills on the mattress to
a razor's edge. I now sleep on the edge, literally, with one cheek hanging
off. If even a fly lands on me, that's enough to topple me over.
I've become the Flying Wallenda of the bedroom.
|
|||||
backward | indexward | onward |