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I hate getting into a cold bed. Hate it. I like lots and lots of blankets piled up like a weight that moves in one big heap when I move. I wish they made a blanket that was as heavy as one of those lead vest thingies you have to put over your body at the dentist when you have x-rays. I would definitely buy that.

When I was married, sometimes I would get into a cold bed and didn't want to wait for it to warm up. I'd lay there for a minute and then go to the top of the stairs and tell Joe he had to come up because I was cold and he needed to warm up the bed. I was kind of half kidding---okay 10% kidding- but I was always surprised after I got back in bed and I'd hear him turn off the tv and the lights and walk up the stairs. It seemed like kind of an absurd request of someone- but he did it for me anyway.

Sometimes, on different occasions, if he was getting into bed before me I'd ask him to lay on my side of the bed first to warm it up for me. He did that too. Then I'd get in and push him over to his cold side. Damn, two cold spots in one night. He really must of loved me.

And sometimes, if I was laying there in the middle of the night and couldn't fall asleep, I'd look at him (sleeping) and think.........hmmmm........how can I mess with this guy? (oh please..... don't act like you've never done the same). It didn't seem quite fair that I couldn't sleep and there he was, drenched in dreamville. My favorite thing to do was nudge him forcefully (but not meanly of course) until he woke up and say "Joe, you're SNORING! Stop snoring!" and act all perturbed with him. Of course he believed me (which is funny in itself because he never snored) and he'd apologize and I'd turn over and laugh to myself about how funny I am (he'd be back asleep in about 20 seconds). I crack myself up.

I miss that stuff. I miss him.
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