Those of you who’ve been following my love life for some time may recall that I penned the following in response to my ill-fated visit to Pittsburgh this past summer. And although I was talking specifically about hosting a date for a weekend at the time, the same rules apply for the “Oh no! It’s too late to drive home!” sleepover:
We all know that you’re not planning a weekend visit to sit around playing checkers (and if you are, you should probably just go to a convention or something) but if this is the first time your lady-friend is spending the night, you ought to offer—at the very least— a façade of quasi-Victorian propriety.
If you have a guest bedroom, offer it to her. (Any woman worth her salt will prefer having someplace semi-private to stash her things, lest she clutter up your kitchen with her shoes and makeup.) If you don’t have a guest room, offer her your bed and—this is the important part— offer to sleep on the couch. I can personally guarantee that she’ll eventually invite you to join her so you won’t be stranded in your living room for long.
When The Wedding Date suggested we meet up in his neck of the woods last Friday night, it wasn’t long thereafter until he invited to the stay the night.
I waffled for a while—we’re only four dates in, and I was still quasi-seeing Date #7 at the time—but when he urged me to bring my overnight bag just in case and offered to sleep in the guest room, I decided I’d better bring my pjs after all.
So we go to the movies, we go to dinner, we come back to his place and I marvel at his Star Wars-themed Christmas tree which is all decked out in x-planes or x-fighters or whatever they’re called and frankly, I find it charming, from the bald spots in back right on down to the blue lights. (What is it with bachelors and their blue lights, by the way?)
The Wedding Date pours us each a glass of wine and because we’re a couple of wild and crazy kids, we drink it in his living room while watching Modern Family. Around 1:00am, he escorts me his bedroom, tucks me in, gets me a glass of water (and a coaster, of course) and leaves.
That’s right: he’s sleeping in the guest room. And I haven’t even asked him to do so.
It’s not so much that I’m a prude (okay, I am a prude) but I have to teach the next day and I need all the sleep I can get when I’m conducting thirty-student rehearsals.
Around 5:30, however, I wake up. And I can’t get back to sleep. And I’m bored. And lonely. So I hatch a cunning plan in which I intend to creep silently into the guest room and surprise The Wedding Date with my early morning seductive powers.
The only problem is its pitch dark, so instead of seducing him, I’m mainly just bumping into furniture and making a complete fool of myself.
Fortunately the man in question is a rather light sleeper so he sits up the minute I open the door to the guest room. Approximately 90 seconds later, I’m back in The Wedding Date’s bedroom but this time… well, I have company.
- The Devil You Know? (katrichterwrites.wordpress.com)
- Small Spaces: Tips for Hosting Overnight Holiday Guests (apartmenttherapy.com)