1. Your hair isn’t in my face and therefore I can’t smell it, which isn’t as creepy as it sounds right now.
2. Your body heat isn’t providing all the warmth I need, thus requiring me to add several blankets to my bed. I will have to launder these blankets, which will waste water and anger my Laundromat lady. I’ve been on thin ice with her ever since I attempted to wash what she inexplicably referred to as “old rubber’s rug.”
3. My back doesn’t lightly touch your back in that particular way that’s better than or at least can feel more intimate than spooning. What I’m trying to say is don’t believe the hype about spooning.
4. If a murderer came in I would have to attempt to fight them off myself.
5. You’d miss the opportunity to learn how polite I can be during a home invasion.
6. Not only would I likely be murdered, but the murderer would also judge me for sleeping alone.
7. Probably the saddest point of the whole possible murder scenario is that you wouldn’t get to hear my hilarious Dorothy Parker-esque witticisms about the murderer’s sartorial choices. “A murderer wearing a ski mask, in July? I hope you’re a robber too, at least that way you’ll leave with some fashion sense.”
8. I’m not sure which side of the bed to choose, so I just pee in it and then sleep wherever there’s no pee.
9. There is no one to tell me my alarm clock is going off, or to ask me why I still use an alarm clock in 2013.
10. The contours of your body remind me I’m alive. Without them, I’m left to other totally valid, but less exciting, methods of remembering, like EKGs, bungee-jumping, or post-its.
11. Nothing is stopping me from eating frozen grapes and pretending I’m an Ancient Greek God.
12. Nothing is stopping me from dipping those grapes into a dish of ice cream and not pretending I’m not slightly disgusting.
13. If I’m not sleeping with you, then that increases the likelihood that someone else is.
14. If a Civil War ghost stands at the foot of my bed, no one will ever believe me without another witness. It will be a classic case of “She said. He did not say.” The “he” in this instance would be the creepy Civil War ghost who would refuse to verify the fact that he stood at the foot of my bed haunting me just to be a dick. Oh sorry, I guess you really think no one was a dick in the 1860s?
15. Your tidal drowsy breaths are one of the prettiest poems.
16. You aren’t able to see my monogrammed pajamas, which makes it pretty difficult, but not impossible as I’ve learned over the years, to mock my monogrammed pajamas.
17. All of the blankets stay firmly in place and don’t end up twisted or disheveled in any way. So sometimes when I get out of the bed I can’t tell if I’ve slept or not. Then I wonder if it’s night time or morning. Before you know it I’m the guy from Memento with tattoos about what time it is all over my body and all of them are wrong, except for twice a day.
18. If the smoke detector goes off and I am sleeping on my left side, I will not hear it. And if I am sleeping on my right side, I will not care. I am so incredibly lazy selfless that I need another person to make getting out of bed to shut off a malfunctioning smoke alarm worth it.
19. I cannot complain to you about how loud birds are getting these days. Can’t somebody put a lid on these goddamn birds? Can Mayor Bloomberg limit all American birds to 20 oz of sound or less? These birds are out of control. Since when are owls even awake in the morning? I will punch that owl so hard its graduation cap will fly off. I don’t know what the hell their bird-problem is, but it seems like the bird-solution is preventing me from sleeping.
20. You’re not there when I wake up.