HOPE I didn’t mislead you anywhere Ginoong / Binibining (Mr/Ms) Precious Reader, but what I meant to say was intimate facts around the bedroom that I have learned about myself and Mahal. That’s better. Now you wouldn’t toss a second look at a blog post with that title diba? It’s just that over the last few years I have come to realize first that there is no familiarity built up that is more intense than one with a partner spouse or live-in boyfriend/girlfriend, all scruples of morality aside.
You burp, fart, pick your nose, do your number ones and number twos in front of each other, perform your bedtime rituals and morning ablutions without a second thought to the other’s presence. Things you wouldn’t dream of doing in front of another human being you do regularly in front of your loved one. What did he/she do to deserve such dubious entertainment, I ask? Well, it’s one of the facts of life we accept when we take a person to share a bed, roof and life with. You take the good and the bad, the sublime with the icky, everything in between, hope for the best, but actually expect the worst :
Snoring. I’ve started with the singularly universal issue that many cohabitants live with (pun intended). Either one of the pair snores, making sleeptime difficult if not miserable for the other, or in some cases both partners snore, in which case it’s a race to who gets to dreamland first, at the peril of the one left behind. The reality in my case is that while I snore infinitely louder than my beloved, I can’t tolerate hearing her snore, even if she’s just a “moderate” snorer. Our interim solution, until we consult a sleep or apnea specialist, is she very generously waits for me to fall asleep first (which isn’t hard) or failing that, I temporarily move to the next room and try to fall asleep there. It’s not ideal I know, but it works. I pity the creature, though, who happens to be in the bedroom when we’re both asleep and snoring our heads off.
Chores. The bedroom is the place where I do a little more than Mahal, and not in the naughty sense. She vacuums most of the rest of the house, leaving me only the bedsides and surrounds to clean up. I also make the bed and fill the water bottles on the side tables. If I don’t do these token chores, I usually get in trouble, because it’s practically the only things expected of me outside of doing the dishes and taking out the rubbish, so I do the best I can. On most days. 🙂
House rules. No electronics, except the digital alarm with five-minute resets. No reading material, unless I want a cranky, cantankerous and caustic bedmate who sleeps only in absolute darkness. It’s been such a habit of hers that I’ve gotten used to sleeping in pitch dark now, not even a sliver of light from between the curtains or under the door. And no sharing of pillows, particularly if you need pillows under your feet thighs or support for your back, which coincidentally I do. In fact, the only thing we share on the bed is the duvet and a goodnight kiss before beddy-bye time.
And finally… After all, it is the bedroom, where conjugal love and intimacy has been celebrated for as long as humans started seeking shelter from the elements, in a cave, up a tree, or what have you. So whenever I want a little more than the usual shuteye and Mahal isn’t too tired from the day’s work, I take extra pains to let her know I’m in the mood. How to do it? Taking a shower, taking pains to look and smell good, keeping the bedroom cleaner and tidier than usual, and most of all, kissing Mahal extra long and sensuously. Of all the tricks, the last one seems to work well most and often.
But that’s just icing on the cake. Night in and night out, it’s the companionship and the knowing that everytime you turn in, there’s someone beside you who, no matter how awful your day has been, kisses you and tells you, tomorrow will be a better day. Thank God for that!