It’s been rather vexing lately to wake and find company in my bed:  namely, a ten-year-old and her stuffed friend. I was complaining about this trend to my former boyfriend recently, who remarked, “You should enjoy this while you can — it’s not going to last forever.”

True enough. I shall quit my bitching.

And then said he followed up with, “Do you even see yourself ever allowing a man to share your bed?”

I was shocked.

In a word:  YES! Good lord, of course I hope to share my bed with some fabulous man — and sooner rather than later. (He should know:  many nights I’d shared it with him.)

But it’s not just all about sharing a bed, is it? There’s much more to this love and compatibility and companionship business…which is why I intend to take my time to find the one I’m going to want in my bed for the next half a century or so. Which is longer than I’ve been alive so far and the last guy made twelve years seem like a mighty long time, so it’s a lot to contemplate. (Well, to be fair, only the last few years seemed like the misery would never end.)

At any rate, there is room in my bed for two…and preferably, for someone other than my ten-year-old to poke me in the ribs and tell me to roll over so that I stop snoring. Yes, I welcome it!