Alex and I started out our married life in a full-size bed. As newlyweds, we’d wake up shoulder-to-shoulder and end our day spooning each other to sleep.

It was cute but it didn’t last long.

We upgraded to a queen as soon as we had two nickels to rub together, which was better, but we still struggled. For one, I need personal space the size of Canada when I’m sleeping. I don’t like to be touched and I’ll let you know it. Often violently. Alex, who sometimes uses multiple pillows, has this pillow that’s made entirely out of gel. It weighs 30 pounds and it feels unnervingly like a headless, armless human torso. The last time the corner of this pillow ended up on my side, I hoisted it aloft with one beefy arm and chunked it across the bedroom. In the morning, Alex asked, “Did you throw my pillow last night?”

“Yes,” I responded. “It touched me.”

The second issue is a matter of blankets. I like to sleep with my top sheet and blanket flat against my body, like I’ve been vacuum sealed to the bed. My top sheet is tucked in tight at my feet, providing a comforting deep pressure to my lower extremities. Ideally, my top sheet and blanket come just under my chin.

In stark contrast, Alex sleeps like a tornado. He abandoned the top sheet, as it kept getting hopelessly tangled throughout the night, so now he only has to wrangle a quilt as he does his cheerleader moves in bed. Last year, he woke up and screamed because he’d migrated to the foot of the bed and didn’t recognize our bedroom from that perspective. It’s not uncommon to awaken and find him sitting crisscross-applesauce, folded in half over his pillow.

So, even though the queen bed was a luxurious 6-inches wider than the full, we were still waking each other up with our nighttime antics. About ten years ago, we visited some friends and I ended up in their bedroom, for some reason. They had two twin-sized, adjustable beds pushed together. Technically, a King-sized bed, each spouse had their own sheets and blankets and could adjust the bed to their needs. “If I start snoring, she can just raise the head of my bed with the remote,” my friend told me, as my brain exploded.

When we moved to this house in 2019, after 12 years of marriage, I seized the opportunity and laid out my argument that we needed this set up.

“But, I’ll miss you,” Alex argued.

“You’ll miss me jabbing you in the side with my finger when you’re too close to me?” I shot back.

We bought the beds and chose mattresses with different firmnesses. We each have our own sheets and blankets. I can tuck my sheets and blankets to my hearts desire and Alex can do his somersaults. There is a clearly delineated chasm between the beds that lets us know whose side is who. Do we occasionally lose kindles or ear buds in this canyon? Yes, but the clarity is worth it.

Early this morning, around 4am, I realized that my blanket had slid down the bed. My shoulders were cold. So I grabbed a fistful of quilt and yanked it violently back towards my chin. The downward arc of my fist, full of blanket and latent power, landed directly on Alex’s head, which was resting too close to the demilitarized zone at the border of our beds.

“Ow!” he yowled. “You punched me in the head.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” I wailed. Alex muttered something about being concussed, while I asked him, “Do you need to go to the hospital?” and started a hysterical, wheezy laughter. It became one of those gut-busting, cathartic laugh cries where I’m not sure if I’m happy or sad or crazy but it doesn’t really matter, because I just needed to let it all out. So, at 4am, I laid in bed, crying and cackling, taking deep gasping breaths. When I would settle, I’d remember the punch and begin howling again. Alex, who was still recovering from the knuckle sandwich, griped, “Well, I’m fully awake now.”

Eventually, I settled down, but this will become one of those legendary stories in our marriage–the kind that show up around fire pits and long car drives. The next time we’re arguing about something stupid, Alex will remind me, “Remember that time you punched me in the head?” And we’ll giggle again.

Remember the punch.