The odd little memories your mind decides to replay on your behalf – for no apparent reason – can be strange. One that recently popped into my head was a conversation an ex-boyfriend had with a like-minded individual at a party one night, a conversation which, among many others, was a good reason he became an ex instead of a boyfriend soon thereafter. The two were busy commensurating with each other about the trials and tribulations of having an “older” boyfriend. “Older” got the two fingers air quote gesture because in both cases we’re talking less than a ten year difference in age. I don’t think that actually qualifies as a May/December romance. I don’t think even when you are 90 you should be considered the “older dude” when your other half is 80 himself. I do, however, think a difference of opinion on how to do simple math is another good reason to turn a boyfriend into an ex-boyfriend.

In any case, the two on this particular night were enjoying sharing with each other all the bad things dating an older man entailed. Even after I reminded them that I was sitting right there. And the #1 ghastly trait that I and another soon to be ex-boyfriend’s ancient lover had in common was that at night in bed when it was time to go to sleep we both tended to roll over onto our sides facing the edge of the bed. The two “younger’ soon to be exes viewed this dastardly act as their boyfriend turning his back to them. Nightly. I, and undoubtedly my co-sinner, viewed it less as a personal statement and more about a comfortable position to fall asleep in. But then since within a month I did turn my back on that boyfriend permanently, maybe he was onto something.

Since that little memory popped into my mind I thought I should double check with the current boyfriend just to make sure we weren’t headed to an ex status over something as innocuous as positioning in bed. So I asked Phil if that bothered him. As though the bar boy in Thailand who is the love of my life and the more recent BFF who is now gay and wants to marry me wouldn’t rate a bit higher on the list of things that bothers him than what part of the bed I take up would.

“Why would it? That’s your falling to sleep position.”

“Huh. I didn’t realize I had an official falling to sleep position.”

“Well you do. You roll over onto your side and drape your arm off the edge of the bed. And then later, after you are asleep, you roll onto your back and sleep with your hands tucked behind your head. That’s as sexy as all hell by the way.”

“So I’ve been told.” And I have been. By several partners. Even the one who was not a fan of my initial going to sleep position. Which makes me think I might need to delve into why I’m attracted to guys who spend the hours they are supposed to be sleeping perving out over the position I sleep in instead.

I’m not sure why I fall asleep best in the position that I do but suspect it has a lot to do with the womb. I’m a twin. So unlike the majority of the world, I spent my formative months cocooned in what was supposed to be a safe, secure place with a complete stranger. So not only do I fall asleep at the edge of the bed with my arm hanging in the air, I like to have my feet sticking out from under the covers. It’s less confining. It makes for an easy and quick escape. I lost that race once in my life, and that will never happen again.

In my defense, it’s not like I only sleep in that position. I enjoy falling asleep with the man of my dreams cuddled within my arms just as much. Which is great during the honeymoon stage of your relationship. A bit later, not so much. One of you ends up with an arm tingling from lack of blood circulation and the other with a need for chiropractic assistance the next day to relive the pain in his neck. No one ever said being romantic was easy. But there should come a time in every relationship when its okay to fall back into your normal slumber position. Without it then meaning something deeper than that you are tired.

Prior to discovering my preferred position for sleep was a relationship killer – and seriously, that ex part of our relationship shoulda happened much sooner than it did – my boyfriend suggested we needed to buy a new bed. Huh. The one I had was less than two years old. But beds are important to people and I had to assume there must be something grievously wrong with mine. Size, as usual, always matters, but mine was a king. And while I like my men firm, I prefer my bed to be soft. Think Princess And The Pea, except without the pea. ‘Cuz I’m not really into that golden showers thingy. Besides starting with a soft mattress, I use a goose-down mattress pad. With two goose-down mattress toppers on top of that. It’s like sleeping on a giant, fluffy pillow. Or, if you insist on bringing up vagina again, a giant, fluffy womb.

But the soon to be ex wasn’t pulling a Goldilocks act either; how soft or firm the bed was was not his concern. How many other guys before him had shared that bed was. I thought, perhaps, his was an issue over the sanitary conditions of a well-used bed. I learned instead his was an issue with the deplorably low degree of sanity in his mind. After our relationship became a distant memory, a roommate mentioned that he’d once arrived home to find him punching the hell out of one of the recliners in the living room. He was mad at it because sometimes I sat in that chair instead of on the couch where he could snuggle up beside me. I’d hate to think of what would have happened to that poor chair if I had even fallen asleep in it.

I had a Filipino boyfriend who couldn’t fall asleep without jiggling his right foot. It was a cute quirk and the gentle trembling at the bottom of the bed wasn’t at all annoying. Probably because we never slept on a water bed. At some point I mentioned it to him, just out of curiosity. He told me that as a child his grandmother told him that that was the best way to help yourself drift off at night. He was big on his native culture. Even when it was stuff that adults just made up. I suggested that perhaps it was just a counting sheep type of ploy to help his mind slow down and relax, that by concentrating on an innocuous gesture like jiggling your foot you would relax enough to fall asleep. He thought about it. And then agreed. That night he fell asleep without bouncing his foot around. I, on the other hand, couldn’t get to sleep because I kept waiting for his foot to start its nightly dance.

I think the success of any relationship has a lot to do with how accommodating you are in bed, how willing you are to adapt to the sleeping habits of your partner. Except for snoring. Chronic, bone-shattering, the neighbors complained about your snoring again last night kind of snoring. My friend Noom snores, occasionally. Although he insists he does not. Ever. But it is not the loud, bed-trembling snoring that makes you consider applying a pillow to your bed-partner’s face. It’s a gentle, soft growl accompanying inhale, followed by a noise he makes with his lips when exhaling that sounds like someone blowing bubbles in the bath tub. It’s cute. And while it is just as disturbing to my sleep as a roof-shaking snore would be, it’s not because of the noise he makes but rather how much I enjoy watching the interplay of his chest rising and falling and his lips pursing as he lets each breath out. I guess I spend hours that I’m suppose to be sleeping perving out over my bed partner’s sleeping habits too.

While I can be versatile on the matter, I tend to prefer sleeping on the left side of a bed. I’m not sure why. Maybe it has something to do with my politics. For the right guy, just as with the right politician, I can move to the right side if needed. Probably because I know that either with the next election or next boyfriend I’ll be reclaiming my position on the left. But there are those who can not be budged from their preferred side of the bed. And I don’t think Match.com includes that little nugget in their comparability algorithms. They should. Because for some it is as important as whether you are a top or bottom. It’s possibly even more important since you’ll probably spend more time sleeping together than having sex with each other. And if you can’t come to terms with who gets which side of the bed, you probably will not be having much sex anyway.

Ending any relationship, no matter how ill-conceived it may have been, is never supposed to be a joyous occasion. You may be happy to be finally out of that relationship, but it’s still the end of what once was a sharing of your life with someone you loved. Or thought you did. And whether you managed to reach an accommodation over each other’s sleeping habits or not, there is always something missing that first night you spend in bed without the person whose presence you’ve become so used to. If a major issue between you was which side of the bed each of you slept on, or that one of you rolled over on his side to fall asleep, while there probably were much more serious reasons why the two of you stopped clicking, you’d think your first night of freedom, of sleeping in your own bed by yourself, would mean reclaiming that position of sleep that was so objectionable.

But in the case of my ex, I distinctly remember spreading myself out diagonally across the bed on the first night of sleeping without him. It wasn’t about reclaiming my preferred position of sleep but about reclaiming the entire bed. It was mine. All mine. As was my life again. And I fell asleep that night with a big smile on my face. Even though I did so splayed out in a position I hardly ever fall asleep in. Our relationship might have lasted longer if I’d managed that feat sooner. But it’s probably a good thing I never did. Replacing that recliner would have been more difficult than replacing the boyfriend.

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