Drool Me a River

I'm not the best bed buddy in the world.

I steal covers, maneuver myself into a diagonal position so I'm monopolizing 99% of the bed and grind my teeth.

I also have what doctor's refer to as a bit of a drooling problem.

Sunday night, I attempted to watch Mad Men with The Hoff. Since the new season started a few weeks ago, I've been telling him I'll watch an episode. (He claims it's one of the best shows on t.v. right now.) I haven't been able to make it to the first commercial break without crashing. That's what happens when you bring your A-game all weekend...

I must have been really spent this past Sunday because before I knew it, The Hoff was grabbing my jaw to keep me from grinding my teeth. (I have my own personal mouth guard.) Then, I woke up, lifted my head, and noticed a string a drool connecting my mouth to an Olympic-sized puddle in the middle of The Hoff's chest. (Don't worry, I mopped before zonking out again.)

But I wasn't done wrecking slumber havoc yet.

When The Hoff was trying to peacefully sleep, I pulled all the covers onto my side of the bed while simultaneously pushing him onto the floor in effort to obtain my preferred diagonal sleeping position.

The irony to this all is I have to be in a completely quiet environment to fall asleep. I can't have the t.v. or radio on (unless I'm completely wiped out), and I DETEST snoring. I've gone so far as to sleep in my car or a bathtub to avoid the freight-train noises that come from people with a deviated septum. It irritates me that much.

And The Hoff is a very pleasant bed companion. He sometimes lightly snores, but it's so faint it wouldn't bother anyone accept yours truly and her bat-like ears. You better believe he gets poked in the ribs anytime his breathing reaches 1 dB.

...I definitely would have kicked my ass to the couch by now if I were him.