Alone in our bed, I’ve never been so comfortable. Aside from the fact that I just genuinely like being alone in a comfy space, it’s the most amount of softness my body’s experienced in days. I spend all night dawdling on my phone, rolling around, and spreading my legs out like a starfish.
I never want to go back to the couch ever again, I don’t even want to goddamn sit on it. The couch doesn’t deserve that type of satisfaction. The couch is dead -- long live the couch!!
“How’d you sleep?”
“Fine,” she said, “It’s not the best, but it really isn’t that bad.”
“Yeah, I mean, I’m smaller… so I felt less claustrophobic than you probably did.”
“Hm. Did you hear Pinky fighting?”
“Who?” she asks. “The neighbor.”
"I hate sleeping on the couch -- it’s a thing for barbarians and miscreants..."
“Oh, I call her DW Brown! I did hear her! I wonder how often that happens!”
“I thought the same thing,” I said. “Maybe she’s fought all month, but we couldn’t hear her from our room!
"Why do you call her DW Brown?”
“DW for ‘dishwater.’ She has dishwater brown hair.”
She does have dishwater brown hair. Eureka! Friday night, I folded the couch out again and switched positions so my head was facing the window. I opened it up and let the cool Bushwick trash-breeze blow onto my sallow skin.
I hate sleeping on the couch -- it’s a thing for barbarians and miscreants and I cherish the memories of the night before, when I slept in my very own bed. I miss my girlfriend's soft skin and her perpetual coconut smell. She smells so good.
I miss turning over and squeezing her body when I’m restless and feeling her thrash around when she’s having one of these dreams about Teddy Roosevelt that she always has.
Arthur hate couch.
Sleeping on the couch really helps a guy appreciate his apartment. You notice things all the things you never really look at: like your coffee table, from an angle nary a soul ever sees.
The only thing to keep you company are the blinking lights of the modem and the sounds of your neighbor -- Pinky McDishwater -- fighting with her sister or brother or boyfriend. Or whatever.
It also helps you appreciate the missing company! Absence makes the heart feel blah blah blah. I wasn’t surprised with how I felt at the end, but was unpleasantly surprised at how quickly my girlfriend adapted to the change.
On Saturday, we laid in bed all night and watched Downton Abbey, which is actually a really interesting show. We revelled in the softness of the blankets and deep cushion and fell asleep in the middle of the finale of season one. Not to spoil anything, but England and Germany are now at war.
When I asked my girlfriend about her experience, she said she felt similarly. It turns out she also loves my skin, and my sounds, and my thrashing. Ugh, young love.
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Arthur Tram writes all across the Internet and loves seafood.