The strange thing about being known as the Last Remaining Single Girl on the planet is that I have always felt like a bit of a douchebag for wearing the badge with so much honour.
Because… I’m not really single.
Not where it counts. Not in bed.
Yeah. I said it.
For the last 10 years, I, The Urban Single Mom, I’ve been happily sharing my pillows, bed sheets and morning breath with a person of the male variety. And you can’t really call yourself single when you go to bed with someone every night, now can you?
Going to bed with someone else consistently is the most un-single thing you can possibly do. Because sharing bed space… is intimate. It’s naked (oh that sweaty, sweltering heat of the Namibian summer! Who can stand wearing clothes to bed? I certainly can’t!). It’s gross (snoring, drooling, sleep-farting… sudden shakes brought on by scary nightmares and sleep paralysis, believe me I’ve seen and done it all!).
And it’s real.
There is nothing on earth realer than sleeping with someone.
Sleeping is the most vulnerable state of being. And sharing that vulnerability with someone else compares to nothing else on earth.
Over the years my Bed Partner has seen me in all ways, and in all shapes and sizes. He has seen me cry in bed over heartbreak, financial worries and everything in between. He has seen me eat in bed on days of great laziness. He has cuddled up to me tightly on rainy days and wintry nights. He has endured being punched in the face mid-sleep (I’m a terrible sleeper).
He has been on the receiving end of Blanket Tug of Wars. He’s been conned into giving me the Fluffy Pillow. He has had to share ‘making the bed’ duties every second day. And he is the only person on earth who knows that sometimes I sleep with my eyes open and that when I snore, I do so in a frightening, loud, roaring crescendo.
Yeah, I know. I’m not proud.
My relationship with My Bed Mate is probably one of the biggest in my life, so I knew breaking up with him was not going to be an easy task.
We need to talk.
It wasn’t me!
Yes, it… wait, what! What did you do again?!
I held the glass, Mom. I held it tightly. But it still broke.
Which glass?!
The fancy wine one with the glitter stuff on …
God. I hate you guys. But that’s not the point. We have to talk about you moving out of my bedroom.
That’s just silly. I like sleeping by you.
I know. But you’re 10 years old. You have to sleep alone. In your own bed. And I’m almost… a fossil. I’m too old to sleep with a kid any more.
Who do you want to sleep with, then?
Uhm… No one…
This better not be about The Magician again, Mom!
It’s not about a guy. It’s about me. I need space.
Baby, please take this seriously? Mommy’s begging you.
Fine. I’ll take it seriously. Tomorrow.
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