I cannot keep still in my sleep.

I for some reason assume a sleeping position my husband has named ‘the starfish’ (arms out, legs out), thus occupying the entire bed.

From there, I for some reason like to hurl the blankets across the room with great force and smash the bedside lamp, occasionally followed by bestowing my sleeping husband with a thump on the head.

(Neither of us has any idea why I do this. Happily, my husband chooses not to view this as some type of repressed waking urge to belt him over the head. This works for both of us).

So, (with the exception of the odd ‘nocturnal-karate-chop-by-wife’), my husband awakens in the morning looking approximately the same way as he did upon going to sleep.

I, however, somehow deteriorate during the night !.

He looks neat, well rested, refreshed. Perhaps a little untidy, but nothing a comb can’t fix.

I, however, look like I have spent the wee hours engaged in folk dancing with a football team.

I do not awaken with the dawn, fresh as a new bud in spring and as just as pleasant to behold.

(I in fact look like a complete and utter wreck, and invariably greet the day through (puffy, sleep encrusted) eyes with all the allure of a recent roadkill).

(My ex-housemate Adam and I were once having breakfast after having attended a rather raucous party the evening before. The party had been a ‘back to school’ theme, and I, wearing  school uniform, had been taken fancy to by the hosts (very drunk and very lecherous) dodgy old ‘Uncle’.

“Vanessa ...” Adam drawled, looking at me “... If that dirty old man that was chasing you everywhere last night could be waking up next to you right now, he’d be saying “Ugh ! ... What was I thinking ???””.)

Daily, my fresh-faced husband springs from the bed, runs a hand through his (charmingly sleep-tousled) curls, and faces the day.

I, however, must endure the horror of 'morning' face !.

Arrrrgh !.

(Why are my eyes on my forehead ?).

One side of my face puffier than the other, one clear eye and one red one, one cheek bearing a canyon-like pillow-wrinkle, hair near-vertical one side and resembling a squashed pith helmet on the other, mascara dark circles even when I’m not wearing any.

I am a mess !. But a cheerful one, which luckily seems to be all that really counts to my husband (provided, of course, he got some sleep !).