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My Wife is Hot...Literally

Not too long ago my wife and I we were warring over where I went to sleep each night. Most nights I'd be slumped across one of our couches looking like someone shot me in my sleep or even better, I'd be completely knocked out, sprawled out across our living room floor only barely aware that my daughter was doing gymnastics on my chest and stomach.

Usually, I'd wake up in the middle of the night and stumble to bed to my supposedly sleeping wife. And without fail each morning she'd tell me with much attitude exactly what time I came to bed and how ridiculous that it is that as a married, grown man, I can't just bring myself (she used a different set of words) to bed.

Pointlessly, I've argued why this has occurred until I've been blue in the face. Not that I haven't understood her point, but the man in me insists that all my actions be understood. Even when, as my wife points out, some of my actions don't even make sense.

I've since rectified all this and we've moved on. Nowadays the only nighttime discussion we have is that our crappy apartment gets cold in the middle of the night, even now when the weather is 60 degrees one day and 30 the next. I must point out, however that my wife is perpetually cold. She is the type of woman who'll turn on the a/c in the summer and then sleep under a down comforter.

What I find amazing about all this is that my wife is hot to the touch, no matter how warm or cold she believes she is. So from the days (two weeks ago) when I used to stumble around in the dark trying to find our bedroom to now when I beat her there, it's nice to know that even when a slight chill comes over me in the middle of the night all I have to do is roll over and siphon off as much heat as I need to from my five-foot, eight-inch personal heater. Even if it means waking up with my back killing me because she somehow unconsciously manages to wrap her legs around me in a psuedo scissor-lock.

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