Amnesia Foam

Isn't it funny how we are creatures of habit?  Like most married couples, Clint and I have slept on the same side of the bed for probably the entire duration of our marriage.  Even after those times when we moved into a new house, we still ended up claiming our usual hemisperes of the bed.  So, naturally, it was a little bit of a surprise to me the other night when Clint suddenly announced that we needed to switch sides for a few weeks; maybe longer.  The rest of the conversation went as follows (me pink, Clint blue):

"Why?"

"Because the memory foam on my side of the bed won't pop back up anymore, and it's creating a dent on my side of the bed."

"So you want me to sleep in your dent?"

"Well, yeah.  If we switch for awhile, then it won't be so weighted down and it'll be able to return back to its normal shape."

"Unless you broke its memory and it's permanently squished.  Who's to say that it'll ever recover?  And now you want to take my perfectly good side of the bed and squish it flat too?"

"Nahh, it'll be fine woman.  Come on, switch with me."

"Uh uh.  You made your little pit of despair, now you've gotta lie in it."

I feel a little mean now about the whole thing, but I can't help it...I love my side of the bed.  It sinks in just the right amount, and then pops right back up every morning, fluffy and inviting.  It still remembers me.  I don't want to sleep on Clint's side of the bed, trapped in his big ole' amnesia-ridden hole.  I know, I'm a selfish brat.  But I guess it's habitual for me to be that way.  Maybe I'll go to Target tomorrow and buy him a really comfy pillow...or something.