“Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.” – A Room of One’s Own
I’m the Pol Pot of duvet sharing. I will forcibly relocate the sheets from right under your butt by 1 am, and I don’t need to raise you from the mattress to do so. I’m committed enough to achieve it one millimetre at a time. I don’t know why I need the entire duvet. I just do, but I steal it sexily, so I believe I’m worth it. (You do not get a say in this. I am always worth it.)
My sleep habits are a massacre of sleep mumbling and ball sack kicking. My feet and hands are made of dry ice, and I will put them all over you because every man needs to be felt up while he’s dreaming of England. Do you think Jon Snow whines about being cold? No. No, he doesn’t.
I also crave blow jobs the instant I wake up. This is an excellent quality in a woman, especially when she habitually wakes up at 2 am. I also won’t go to sleep until I’m 1, 000% sure there’s no more sex to be had, and if you can’t sleep by the light of my lust and a lamp bulb, it’s probably best you chase me onto the couch.