My boyfriend, the magician

Stuart likes to make a big deal (like most males) about how he always over-heats in bed, while I'm freezing cold.  And it's true, I don't dispute it.  I just don't understand why men seem to think that it's a story that needs to be told over and over.  It's a (nearly?) universal truth, after all; he doesn't go on and on at parties about gravity does he?

At any rate, with all the below normal temperatures and rain lately, I've piled the winter layers back on my side of the bed.  I almost always get up around 3am for a washroom trip and when I get back, mysteriously, my covers have shrunk.  Suddenly, there's barely enough to cover half of me.  And do you know where they've gone?  UNDER Stuart.  Yup, "Mr. don't snuggle when I'm trying to sleep, it makes me too hot" has invariably cocooned himself in all my blankets.  I have to grab an edge and puuuuuuullllll to get them back.

I'm not making any judgments here about saying one thing and doing another.

I'm just saying it's suspicious, is all.  ;)

In reality, my thermo-regulation is a bit more complicated.  I'm usually an ice block when I first climb in to bed and I need way too many covers to warm up enough to even be able to fall asleep.  Then, around 5am or so, I wake up buried in blankets, overheating and covered in sweat, so I kick some of them off.  And finally, around 7am (or whenever Stuart gets up, whichever comes first) I start to feel cool again and pull some back up.

And the more ambient light there is, the harder it is for me to sleep well.  But that's a whole other story...