The Better Sleep Council’s guide recently made its way to my granite-top breakfast table and it wasn’t because of direct marketing, the only people who have my PO Box address are the tax man, Forbes magazine (for my subscription), a pen pal I met in during my gap six months working on ski slopes in Alaska and my mother...
I wonder if people in the advertising/marketing industry realise the power of mothers , once they have them they could get the world to buy anything – they could rule the world. President Obama had a mother, Bill Gates has a mother, Oprah has a mother figure, all who carry influence and refuse to hear the word “No”.
My mother downloaded the guide off of the Better Sleep Council’s website but was only keen on discussing one topic: Sleep and relationships.Not only did she want to discuss that bit, but she wanted to frame it as the catalyst of me being single and the reason why at 62-years old she is yet to be mother of the bride.
We skipped the ones about not agreeing on room temperature, having a snoring partner (that would definitely strain a relationship) we even skippedthe point about having different sleep patterns – yes, mother, clashing sleep patterns would never doom a relationship.
She pointed at number five on the list with her perfectly manicured red nail: “Problem: Your partner loves to cuddle but you like your space while you sleep”, and with that I was diagnosed. The guide’s solution was listed as the couple in question deciding to compromise by cuddling before falling asleep (during pillow talk, I assume) and then agreeing to sleep on their respective sides of the bed.
My college sweetheart, whom I loved dearly, is all I had to say. He liked to cuddle and I don’t, but said nothing. After a while I discovered that he was much too needy for my liking and we broke up, much to mother’s disappointment. I think I’ve cuddled enough frogs to last me a lifetime, but what I will say is I will cuddle my future husband.
This morning she emailed me a “Is your sleeping pattern making you fat?” article, and I’m certain a printout will make its way onto my fridge door. When it does, you’ll be the first to know.