Let's Have a Sleep Over!

Remember the excitement that came from spending the night at a friend’s house?

Julie and I used to inhabit her basement and play make believe. We’d dress up in her sisters’ old prom dresses. We’d invade her mom’s beauty salon and do our hair and make up. Then, when her parents were asleep we’d raid the junk food drawer and watch Rated R movies until we passed out on the fold out couch. That was enough entertainment for us.

I think those little slumber parties were a good way for us to prepare for being good hostesses when adulthood hit, but there is one kind of sleep over where the rules for being a good hostess are a bit fuzzy. I'm talking about those impromptu sleep overs that happen when the guy you like is drunk and staying at your place, of course.

A few blogs back I mentioned Dave. Dave was the class clown in high school turned into a (mostly) mature adult. I ran into Dave a few nights ago while I was out with Julie and Jennifer.

Jules and Jenn remember Dave from high school, and they remember how his group didn’t mix with ours. When I told them he was my date for a wedding coming up next month, they were a bit shocked. Then when we showed up to Jan’s Bar and he was there, they got to see, first hand, the dynamic that happens between he and I.

First of all, he was super excited to see me. Despite the fact that it was probably the alcohol talking, I never get tired of a guy yelling my name to get my attention, and then cutting through the sea of people to give me a hug.

Dave and I have a kind of chemistry that’s hard to contain when other people are around. We dance, drink, talk, laugh and flirt with very little inhibitions whether we’re being watched or not. I like the fact that he’s a bit wild; it makes me look more tame than I am. I feed off his energy, and it’s nearly impossible to stay in a bad mood if he’s around to crack some jokes.

There’s been a trend ever since I moved into this apartment. It seems Dave and I can’t hang out together without him coming back to my place to stay the night. In fact, the very first night I lived here, he showed up to hang out. He couldn’t figure out which house my apartment was in, so he decided to stand out in the street and yell my name until I came outside to shut him up.

Looking back that story always makes me laugh (and when it’s retold I always get a chuckle out of people), but at the time I was very concerned that my neighbors would hate me. Here it was, day one, and at 1 o’clock in the morning this guy shows up screaming my name out in the street. That’s the kind of thing I thought happened only in movies.

The other night the trend continued. He came back to my place, and he opted to stay in my bed this time, instead of the couch. And I have to be honest, I kind of wanted him to stay in my bed instead of the couch.

When it comes to Dave, I’m not really sure what I want. One thing I know is that I’m in the middle of a really long dry spell, and a warm body in my bed isn’t an unwelcome thought. Naturally, I did what any girl in a dry spell would do. I refused to make the first move while trying to make myself as appealing as possible.

I spent half an hour in the bathroom making sure my breath was up to par. I slathered on this expensive cream that makes my skin silky soft and offers a wonderful aroma. I made sure I was properly prepared for the adventure that might be. When I entered my bedroom, he was sleeping while sitting up on the side of my bed. So much for wishful thinking.

The care giver in me simply laid him down while I crawled in next to him.

I will admit that it was nice just to even sleep next to a man. Sharing my bed is still sharing my bed whether I get any or not, and I kind of enjoyed waking up the next morning.

Like a good hostess I let him sleep in and I smiled and offered him some coffee (which I always forget that he doesn’t drink the stuff) when he woke up. If the neighbors pay any attention, they’ve gotten used to seeing him leave my apartment on occasion. I know what everybody thinks when two people go home together, but I have yet to receive the perks of any rumor that might be started because of this.

I’m not sure when sleep overs changed from stolen twinkies and midnight movies to frantic preparations and hoping to get laid, but they still have one thing in common... the excitement factor.