Not quite gift of the Magi . . .
For my birthday, I told my parents I wanted to go to Ohio . . . then I changed my mind and decided I'd rather go to Seattle. After all, my favorite first year won't be graduating this semester, and many of the other people I cared about have already left. Seattle, on the other hand, has both a Brian and a Connor in it. And I still owe Brian a visit. Like, since about a year ago.
So they got me that flight--most of which was paid for with miles they'd banked on credit cards, so little out-of-pocket expense.
While my family is in the habit of just asking people what they want--my brother, for example, gave me the criminal procedure flashcards I need for this quarter, and my grandmother gave me a check that I'll be devoting to several months of Metro passes--my parents like to have something that's "thoughtful" or that's in some way a surprise. So they also got me an electric blanket.
I actually own an electric blanket. My bed is a full, and fairly old. Once I move out, I'll probably upgrade to a queen. The electric blanket is a twin, from the last bed I had, around a decade ago. I enjoy making my bed uncomfortably warm. You know that hot summer day feeling, where you just want to languish in the sun and nap? I love that. Love it.
Mike did not love it. I would pull the blanket towards me, untucking everything to wrap myself and to keep him isolated as I transformed into a taquito of delicious artificial heat. Still, he complained. The heat radiated. He couldn't sleep so warm. He was restless, he wouldn't stop moving, he prevented me from sleeping and none of this made for pleasant mornings. He resented me for the warmth--but would rarely, if ever, say anything at the time--and I resented him for keeping me up and for guilting me.
I told him that, if it was still bothering him, and I was already asleep, he could turn it down, or off, since it would retain the majority heat but wouldn't emanate as much heat that way. That seemed to make him angry too.
A couple times, he pulled the blanket away from me--presumably semi-consciously--and threw it over his side of the bed. I woke up shuddering. He'd left before me those mornings, and when I asked him later why he didn't even put the blanket back on when he left, he said that he hadn't noticed it was off and that he just thought I looked really cute "curled up in a little ball, clutching the blankets." I resented him for that as well.
There was a fair amount of bitterness tied to sleeping habits and ideal temperatures.
Today, I opened the electric blanket that my parents gave me. It was a queen size, and I laid it over my bed, tucking in the excess. As I unwrapped the cord I noticed something: two controllers. One for the left side and one for the right.
And I laughed--both at the simplicity of the fix, thinking for a moment that it was a shame I'd thrown away what might have been a fine relationship over stupid shit like this--but also at the realization that I absolutely could have solved that problem on my own if sleeping temperatures were the only contentious issue. I didn't care enough to fix it. And I wanted to walk away.
So they got me that flight--most of which was paid for with miles they'd banked on credit cards, so little out-of-pocket expense.
While my family is in the habit of just asking people what they want--my brother, for example, gave me the criminal procedure flashcards I need for this quarter, and my grandmother gave me a check that I'll be devoting to several months of Metro passes--my parents like to have something that's "thoughtful" or that's in some way a surprise. So they also got me an electric blanket.
I actually own an electric blanket. My bed is a full, and fairly old. Once I move out, I'll probably upgrade to a queen. The electric blanket is a twin, from the last bed I had, around a decade ago. I enjoy making my bed uncomfortably warm. You know that hot summer day feeling, where you just want to languish in the sun and nap? I love that. Love it.
Mike did not love it. I would pull the blanket towards me, untucking everything to wrap myself and to keep him isolated as I transformed into a taquito of delicious artificial heat. Still, he complained. The heat radiated. He couldn't sleep so warm. He was restless, he wouldn't stop moving, he prevented me from sleeping and none of this made for pleasant mornings. He resented me for the warmth--but would rarely, if ever, say anything at the time--and I resented him for keeping me up and for guilting me.
I told him that, if it was still bothering him, and I was already asleep, he could turn it down, or off, since it would retain the majority heat but wouldn't emanate as much heat that way. That seemed to make him angry too.
A couple times, he pulled the blanket away from me--presumably semi-consciously--and threw it over his side of the bed. I woke up shuddering. He'd left before me those mornings, and when I asked him later why he didn't even put the blanket back on when he left, he said that he hadn't noticed it was off and that he just thought I looked really cute "curled up in a little ball, clutching the blankets." I resented him for that as well.
There was a fair amount of bitterness tied to sleeping habits and ideal temperatures.
Today, I opened the electric blanket that my parents gave me. It was a queen size, and I laid it over my bed, tucking in the excess. As I unwrapped the cord I noticed something: two controllers. One for the left side and one for the right.
And I laughed--both at the simplicity of the fix, thinking for a moment that it was a shame I'd thrown away what might have been a fine relationship over stupid shit like this--but also at the realization that I absolutely could have solved that problem on my own if sleeping temperatures were the only contentious issue. I didn't care enough to fix it. And I wanted to walk away.