“Pretty young, though not too young, divorced by choice and not in crisis, officially seeking… a sleeping partner. Ideally, one who snores just lightly—enough to harmonize with my own nighttime serenades—and who won’t bolt when I have 3 a.m. panic attacks about imaginary burglars or sudden existential dread. Oh, and those who make coffee first thing in the morning? You’ll go straight to the top of the list.”

Where did this sudden “ad” come from, you ask? Let me explain.
Lately, I’ve been waking up like clockwork—4:30 a.m. on the dot, give or take five minutes. Every single night. I’m basically a human alarm clock, minus the cuckoo part (although some might debate that). This wouldn’t be a problem if I hadn’t gone to bed at 1 a.m. And it’s not just waking up—it’s waking up scared. Heart racing, dark thoughts swirling, convinced something terrible is about to happen. Then I lie there, wide-eyed and anxious, for a solid hour before I can drift off again.

In the name of sanity, I consulted a friend, equally quirky, delightfully dysfunctional. Our brainstorming led to some possible reasons for my nocturnal drama:

• Watched a horror movie? Nope. I learned that lesson long ago.
• Bad dreams? Yes—last week I dreamed of earthquakes and burglars. Got up to triple-check the doors, closed all the windows, and slept like the Bionic Woman, under the AC.
• Ex-boyfriend cameo? Didn’t happen. But even if it did, that would be comic relief, not horror.
• Fear of the unknown? Depends… does “unknown” have blue, green, or flaming red eyes?
• My daughter’s away at camp. Bingo. House is quiet. Too quiet.
• Subconscious sabotage? That’s my friend’s theory. She might be on to something—or projecting.

Bottom line: single life is great—until it’s 4:30 a.m. and the shadows start whispering.

So I’ve decided to sacrifice the luxury of sleeping diagonally and offer half the bed in exchange for emotional night security. I solemnly promise to sleep in all positions (Liberty, Cherish, and whatever else the mood calls for), share my water bottle, and provide my latest health report, should you be curious.

The ideal candidate:

• Washes his own socks and underwear.
• Can cook (or settle for salad, ice cream, and coffee).
• Doesn’t ask “Where are you going?” or “Where have you been?”
• Keeps the toilet seat down (no negotiation).
• Goes for a beer with his friends while I’m out for coffee with mine.
• Comes home strictly for sleep (plus maybe a movie beforehand).
• Leaves early—but makes the coffee first.

Too much to ask? I think not. I’m basically offering part-time snuggle benefits and a peaceful domestic co-existence.

Bonus note: I have cold feet in winter. Also, as a child, I never stuck my feet out from under the blanket, for fear of the wolves lurking beneath the bed, waiting for an unguarded toe. Some fears never quite leave us.

P.S.
This is a pamphlet, a satire, a bedtime fairy tale with a twist. But if you do happen to snore lightly and make great coffee… you know where to find me 😉

Now Accepting Bedtime Applications (Light Snorers Welcome)