I'll let you be in my dreams if I can be in yours

Alright already, I fess up. I can't hold onto the pretense any longer. You may not believe it but I am semi-rescinding something I said here before.

It's time you knew the truth.

Guys, I'm a little prone to hyperbole. Shock, gasp, I know. I am in love with that figure of speech in which exaggeration is used for emphasis or effect. As in:

I just slept for a year

or

This book weighs a ton

The book in fact does NOT weigh a full ton and I'd be mighty upset with myself if I slept for an entire year. And it's about time I admitted these things. So the other day, when I said those mean and awful things about a bed other than my own in my blog, I meant them, but only a little.

The foreign bed and I didn't have quite the falling out I might have led one to believe. So I'm sorry bed that I made it out so much worse than it was. I'm sorry I aired our grievances for the world to see. That was wrong of me. I even missed you a little. And I should have talked to you about these issues before I went and shouted them to the world, little town crier I seem to be. Don't let us go the tragic way of Britney and Justin, bed. Like the old Beatles song says, we can, my friend, work it out. Because I'm learning to be more accepting of nocturnal resting places other than my own. It's a prejudice I'm willing to work on.

For selfish reasons assuredly. Through your good graces, bed, I think I've found the most amazing of ways to sleep. Let me explain: The human back is a fantastic and wonderful thing. It holds most of our vital stuff, lungs, heart, stomach, and it generally does so in a shapely and attractive manner. The back is a broad palate for warmth and touch. Sexy and supple, it is one of my favorite places to learn about. Lascivious writers of the middle ages wrote of the beast that has two backs. I write instead of the beast that has none.

Inch for inch, pound for pound, you can't beat sleeping back to back. At the same time both satiating the need for the intimate and respecting the wish for individuality, sleepy-time has never seen anything like it. Backs feel like they were made to be pressed together, they just fit, giving all that contact craved and you can still curl up into that requisite position fétale. One rests assured with all that bodily contact and has none of the complicated "This arm goes where?" juggling of the spoon. No longer does one have to choose between the emotional satiation of lying on another's chest and the unbearable neck cramp that inevitably follows. The snuggle buddy never had it so good.

And bed, I slept quite well now that I've seen what you have to offer. Maybe you think I'm trading the my-bed crack for another, equally situational dependant, sleep addiction. To which I can only reply: Zzzzzzz....