You're used to laying in bed alone, until someone comes into it offering a warm body to comfort your life like a blanket. Then the person gets uncomfortable because you're crowding their space. They're too hot and you're making them sweat. Your elbows are jabbing so they have to get up. The person moves to the couch or the guest room because rest is no longer possible with you. I recently saw this as an allegory for why people stay single longer and divorce earlier today.
Perhaps my opinion is shaped by living in Hollywood, or perhaps it's the sign of the facebook relationship status times; a committed relationship is an impossible combination lock that is as transient as it is elusive. Is it the under-whelming supply of soy-ice-blended-combo-meal choices that leave us consistently hungry for more unsatisfaction? Has modern fiction convinced us of a romantically comedic ideal that reality just can't live up to? Or has the fruit of our looms been spoiled rotten by over-exposure? Our more-exciting-than-ever-before storybook lives just can't seem to settle down for a happy ending that doesn't have a plural "s" added to the end of it (happy endings).
The unfortunate fortune that I'm telling is that while you're temporarily hot and bothered by a crowded relationship, you're insignificant other is left to stare at an empty warm impression in a once comfortable bed.
Trying to catch those zzzz's
-MM
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