Anyone who sleeps next to someone in their warm, comfy bed will understand this.
We buy a mattress. For months, we sleep soundly on this new, unworn, marshmallowy haven. No backaches in the morning. No tossing and turning for hours before finally curling up in the fetal position and snoozing for eighty-five seconds at a time. Heavenly, feathery bliss. Until that one day when you awake to find that slight pain has returned in your lower back. As you're making the bed you can see that the 'ditches' have now appeared. A ditch for you and a ditch for your bed-sharer. And what lies in the middle of these two ditches? The bump. The highly coveted bump. We all want that bump to be our new spot. We try to roll over as close to it as possible, hitting elbows and sliding the 'other''s pillow out of the way a bit. It feels as if this bump was just transported as a flawless, new addition to our otherwise unloved mattress. As soon as the 'other' gets out of bed we roll, with haste, over to this heavily desired area where we sleep as though on a cloud, for hours, uninterrupted. We dream of a mattress made up of just bumps, forever. Uncrushable.
Ahhh the bump.
When we are lucky enough to find comfort in our ditch, our positions are limited, still, thanks to the addition of a 70lb dog.