Real girls in their own place.
Not too crazy and just a pinch of naughty...
You guys, I have a super unsexy confession to make. I can’t, and never have been able to, sleep naked.
I’m currently one half of a serious relationship that often sleeps in the same bed. His side desires no clothes, while mine wants all the clothes possible. I regularly sleep in about three layers of cozy sleepwear. My typical #OOTN (outfit of the night, y’all) is an old tee shirt, sweatpants, sweatshirt and socks. I know, where is the beanie and scarf? Now I realize that sounds excessive, but hear me out. I go to bed looking like Nanook of the North, and miraculously wake up in the morning with several layers removed.
I can’t, won’t and, don’t sleep naked, but I do a mean subconscious strip tease, complete with neatly folded socks at the end of the bed.
This phenomenon has remained a mystery to anyone who’s ever been intimate with me, bless their tolerant hearts. I realize that this is terribly weird and unsexy, but not wearing clothes feels foreign, strange, and somewhat dirty on my nice clean sheets. I don’t get it because I definitely didn’t grow up in a home where nudity was taboo. The very best I can offer is a tank top and full-butt covering granny panties. Sort of adorable? Hard to tell.
Of course I could enter the world of sexy lingerie with silk teddies and such, but it’s expensive and reminiscent of bad porn. I can’t justify spending at least a hundred bucks on something that will be tortured with things like night sweat. Also, it looks constricting and unbreathable. Sleeping is all about comfort, which means I need the touch, the feel of cotton, the fabric of my life.
Sure, I could even invest in upscale fantasy loungewear from Anthropologie, but I’ve yet to find a need for either a robe or $150 camisole designed for sleep.
Does my boyfriend care how dumpy I look at bedtime? Not at all; he loves me and thinks I’m beautiful always (or so he SAYS). Does he care that I impose my anal quirks on him in my own bed? Absolutely.
Going back to the clean sheets business. It doesn’t bother me to be sleeping next to a nude person, but it does bother me when it’s in my bed. I love clean sheets, but I hate doing laundry. So, the logical thing would be to keep the sheets as clean as possible in between washings. People are just dirty and sweaty in general. I’m a clean freak (read the word freak very seriously). I guess this comes down to laziness.
So, we have agreed on something called “fish pants,” which really isn’t as strange as it sounds. It’s a pair of jammie shorts that have fish on them procured from Target as a peace offering. The fish pants live in my pajama drawer and are used for sleepy times at my place (He is free to be…well, free in his own bed without a peep from me because he does his own laundry). Does he protest every time? Yes. There’s a lot of melodramatic cries about “suffocation” and “constriction.”
It’s not unjust. I am a monster, an unsexy monster who has weird hangups.
But he does it because he loves me, all of me, swathed in three layers of pilly cotton.
Originally posted on The Gaggle!