Put it to Bed.

Every night, I go to bed with Ted.

Ted is just one of those guys that gets me, you know?

He accommodates my strange sleeping positions (which all revolve around where Guji lies, of course), he puts up with my many alarming wake ups whenever I think I see someone creeping across my closet. He doesn’t judge me when I drool, he keeps me warm, protects me, is deliciously stylish, and of course adores the fact that I sleep absolutely naked next to him.

Ted is also the brand of bedding I sleep on, Ted Baker, specifically.

You thought I had a lover, didn’t you?

Tricked you!

Apparently though, not every man I come into contact with thinks of my sleeping tendencies the same way as Ted does, especially in regards to what I (don’t) wear to bed.

See, the first time I had the pleasure of showing a man into my bedroom, I was insulted.

Standing statuesque at six foot two, it’s only fitting that I sleep in an above average captains bed, which is taller, just like me.

So when the boy entered my room, he took one look at my bed and said, “Well that bed is intimidating.”

Which wasn’t altogether a surprise to hear, considering I’ve been described as that word nearly all of my life. And I get it, not everyone can handle a whole lotta woman (or a whole lotta bed apparently). And after hearing that, I simply showed him the door.

The second time came more recently. I had an opportunity to show someone my house, someone that I really fancied, and I was once again.. dissapointed with the response.

He had been looking at my robe rack (vintage negligees and sheer nighties: yes, I have an entire rack dedicated to all of my robes) and of course we got on the subject of what one wears (or doesn’t wear) to bed.

I myself am a believer in sleeping naked. I cherish the after hours in which I can air out and feel nothing but Ted (my sheets, remember) under my body. I’m marvelously comfortable in my skin, enjoying the pleasure of lying in the nude. I simply cannot stand getting pajamas or underwear wrapped in my you know where whenever I turn over, so skin to sheets it is.

Maybe I’m weird, but I always embraced that side of me when I slept, and apparently all the men I meet don’t quite embrace it as lovingly as I.

After sharing this detail about my sleeping preferences, we were walking out of my bedroom and he said, “I’ll be sure to avoid sitting there,” motioning towards my bed.

(jokes on you Buster, I’ve sat in every corner of my house naked, including the fainting couch you were just sitting on)

I was stunned though. Floored. Was he kidding? Apparently no.

I guess when a beautiful woman tells you she sleeps in the nude, you avoid the bed she’s sleeping in and run right outta there.

“It’s contaminated, the bed has germs! It’s swarmed with sin from a heathen who sleeps *gasp* naked, absolutely naked! Avoid like the plague, run for your lives!”

That was how I felt, like this dirty and dastardly woman.

I didn’t know sleeping naked would have such an opposite effect on men!

But then I started thinking: maybe I’m inviting the wrong men into my house?

I deserve to be with a man who appreciates that about me, who sees my (lack of) nighttime attire as an invitation.

Wait wait wait, let me stop you there. You sleep naked? How about I sleep there naked too?

It’s also my house and my rules.

(also no shirt no problem)

As I continue to navigate the river of rocky relationships, I’m learning to discover who I am and what I deserve, and being made to feel dirty for sleeping a certain way is not what I want in a partner.

I’m also beginning to fully accept who I am and all the quirks that go with me (butt naked sleeping tendencies included), tired of letting someone else control how I feel, because I refuse to feel anything less than with a man.

With that said, I’m putting that subject to bed.

And you can bet I’ll be naked when I do.