No Man’s Land (The Battle of the Bed)

When you’re in a relationship, the bed truly is a place of love and war. Territorial battles are waged throughout the night, with conquered land lost and gained, much like the battlefields of medieval Europe. Our Queen sized bed has seen its share of conflict, with the central region of no man’s land a hotly contested patch of scorched earth. The below professionally made diagram shows the agreed pre-conception boundaries.

Over the last few months, in my opinion, and I would suggest the UN’s under international law, this area has fallen under an illegal occupation. My wife has gradually built up a fortress of pillows, that she claims she now needs to sleep, leaving me very little room. This impenetrable cocoon of down and memory foam has encroached into territory previously owned by my empire, and if at any point I try and reclaim what is rightfully mine throughout the night, I am treated like an insurgent in my own lands. Most evenings play out like a re-enactment of the storming of the Alamo. Now below you will see the current situation.

In what is a clear breach of our now 10-year-old charter for peace, I am left with next to no options to retaliate. A wall has been built, inside my territory, severely restricting access to land that was previously mine under mutual agreement.

If ever I attempt to wriggle myself an inch or two of room, it is only to be met with a series of grunts, accompanied by a flurry of knees and elbows. It’s like being in bed with Sagat from Street Fighter 2. And to make things even more difficult, our huge boofhead of a cat also takes up what little resources we have. Choosing not to curl up into a neat little package like a normal cat, he likes to stretch out like an accordion, diagonally, and cover as much ground as possible, like a 7kg furry tarpaulin.

So by now if you’ve done the math, you’ll realise what little land I have left to work within. If any of you out there have a King size bed, I envy you, as you may survive this situation unscathed, or perhaps your wife will simply take the extra space as license to build her interpretation of the Himeji Castle.

But once again, there is no trump card that can beat carrying around a giant wriggling potato in your belly, so the best you can do is grin and bare it. Or find some good sleeping pills.


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