The snuggle struggle is real
I can’t get up. It’s dark o’clock. I’ve burrowed so deeply into my blankets that they feel a part of me. I need them. There’s no way I can leave them. And then I feel it, the cold air. I realize my hair is actually cold. The tip of my nose is cold. Every part of my body not covered by this glorious down- filled comforter is a painful, frigid surface I must somehow immediately cover. And that’s when the bargaining begins. “It can’t be 6 am, right? I can stay here a little longer. I’m never late for work. Just a few more minutes.” I have no idea who I’m trying to get permission from, but what I do know is the battle between my love of comfort and my responsible adult has officially begun.
I’ve gotten very creative these past few mornings to appease this comfort creature living inside of me. I now leave a fleece pullover near my blanket so I can entice my arms out of the blanket and into something equally as soft and warm as soon as my eyes open and the cold-hair sensation registers. And I also have fleece socks and warm fleece-lined slippers at the foot of my bed in case my feet also decide to rebel. What can I say? It takes a village.
And in this “cuffing season” I have to say I think the “snuggle struggle” is way less of a struggle without a bed mate. I mean, seriously, I almost lost my first job as a journalist because of it. Let me explain:
