Once Upon Two Mattresses

Standing naked at the bedside, my man and I tear back the covers, anticipating ecstasy. We climb between the sheets and press together, limbs entwined. Our eyes close in mutual euphoria and we fall ... rapturously ... asleep. (That's right, pervs. Asleep.)

It's our cherished nightly ritual: tug comforter up to noses, whisper, "Don't tell them where we are," and huddle pod-like 'til morning. Our shared shuteye is a horizontal dance — not a provocative bop but a slumber rhumba. Throughout the night, we flop subconsciously apart and back together, finding ourselves reconnected by morning's first light: feet stacked, knees overlapping, fingertips resting on shoulders.

So for us, the following news was a rude awakening: Almost a quarter of American couples sleep in separate beds or bedrooms, according to the National Sleep Foundation. And builders claim the demand for separate master suites is on the rise.

I thought his-and-hers bunks were a relic from the I Love Lucy days — and even then, a fake-out to placate easily titillated network execs. Who wants to trot off to dreamland solo when you've got a buddy to spoon?

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