Sleeping with Strangers

I had a wonderful weekend, resplendent in female bonding rituals.

We scrapbooked, reminisced over photos, cooed over each others' children, ate far too many sweets, sang loudly and off-key, stayed up late, and slept together. Before you say "yeaaahhh, bay-beeee!" I feel compelled to point out that it was in a completely G-rated fashion. G for "Good God, did I accidentally touch you with my left foot?! I'm so sorry!! Please accept my most abject apologies!! I didn't mean it! I'm not gay, honest!"

I have never spent the night with a more neurotic woman. Ok, with a more neurotic woman that is not a blood relation, 'cause my family is pretty fucked up emotionally. Depressed bitches, one and all.

I drew the short straw and got to sleep with the perfect stranger. Jules & Mitzi, the other two women sharing the room, have been at other events, and I'm pretty chummy with them. Theresa, however, was my bedmate for the evening, and a very nervous sort she was. She seemed almost overly concerned with not touching. If there'd been a bolster available, I'm sure she'd have erected it dead center of the bed.

Theresa got to the bed first both nights, as I was maximizing my scrapbooking time and staying up late. When I arrived for slumber the first night, I had to stop and blink. Not only was the woman ensconced under the covers, but she had managed to spread another blanket on top of her and tuck it in about her burrito-style. I was impressed.

So whilst performing my ablutions prior to sleep, I mulled over her seeming paranoia. Did I give off a seductively threatening vibe? Did I look like I'd jump her bones in the middle of the night? Was a I wearing too much flannel and flashing my Home Depot credit card? No, no, and no. So what was her deal?

I put it down to nerves for that day and slept like the dead.

The next night, Theresa was still awake when I came to bed. This night, we were sharing the pull-out sofa in the living room of the suite. She warned me that she might accidentally brush me with her foot because the sofabed sagged in the middle. I assured her that I didn't care and probably wouldn't notice anyway.

I didn't notice it until she nearly jumped out of the bed apologizing.

I am so arsed off about it, I can't even explain. Homophobia just enrages me, and I couldn't cope with it that night. I rolled over, offering her my back and (extremely cold) shoulder.

Next time, I'm sleeping with Weezie.