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sheet. It’s like sleeping with a mummy. The sheet is wrapped around her body and securely wedged under her. It would take the Jaws of Life to get it off her. And don’t think I haven’t considered that option.
    Even if I could somehow unwind the sheet, it wouldn’t do me any good. The top of the sheet is all bunched up near her beautiful face, and she has a death grip on it with both her hands. She’s not giving up that sheet!
    What do I do? All you spouses who sleep with a Sheet Hog know what I do. I grab that sheet and yank it as hard as I can, which spins Sandy around and breaks her control of the sheet. As I yank, I yell in a Tarzan-like voice, “I’m taking back my half of the sheet, Sheet Hog!”
    I wish I had the guts to do that. I’ve often fantasized about it. But, I don’t. You sheetless spouses know what I do. I do nothing. I take it like a man. I go without the sheet for the rest of the night. Without that sheet, I’m exposed to the elements, and the ceiling fan makes me cold. If I pull the blanket over me, it’s scratchy and makes me hot.
    I’m uncomfortable. I’m out of sorts. I have trouble going back to sleep. As I toss and turn, I’m forced to watch Sandy as she sleeps like a baby. With my half of the sheet helping her sleep.
    Is Sandy apologetic for her sheet hogging or in any way concerned about it? Shockingly, no, she is not. She always laughs when I bring it up, as though it’s some kind of a joke. I asked her to go to some kind of sleep laboratory where a minor but painful shock would be administered each time she began her sheet hogging behavior. She refused. In fact, her exact words were, “In your dreams, Mad Snorter !”
    Why would Sandy call me a Mad Snorter? Well, I have a confession to make. Sandy is not the only one with an obnoxious, annoying nighttime behavior. I snore. And if snoring isn’t bad enough, I snort. Loudly. Several times a night.
    Just about every night, I’m sleeping—actually, snoring— and suddenly I rip off a massive, big-bang, ear-splitting snort. It’s so loud I wake myself up. And Sandy. And the kids. And the little dog two houses down the street.
    The first few times it happened, I said to Sandy, “What was that? Did a car backfire? Did someone fire a shotgun?” I was serious! I had no idea it was me. Sandy said, “It was you, Mad Snorter!” She had the nerve to be upset, lying there all wrapped up in my sheet.
    Sandy told me she could probably handle my snoring, but my snorting was a problem. My huge snorts woke her up at least twice a night. I tried to convince her my snorts were my body’s way of reacting to the trauma of not having the sheet. I said, “It’s as if my body is crying out, ‘I have no sheet. Help me!’ ” Sandy didn’t buy it.
    Being a good husband, I tried all kinds of snoring remedies. Adhesive strips on my nose. Pills. Magnets. All kinds of special pillows. I even used one pillow filled with buckwheat hulls. It felt as though I were sleeping on a pillow filled with, well . . . buckwheat hulls.
    I still snort. Sandy has assured me she won’t divorce me because of my snorting. Suffocation is a possibility, but not divorce. Sandy still hogs the sheet. I have accepted the brutal reality that I will sleep the rest of my life without a sheet.
    You know what? That’s okay. It’s better than okay. Why? Because I get to live with the most wonderful person in the world. Yes, Sandy is a Sheet Hog. But her many positive qualities far outweigh her sheet hogging. Sandy feels the same about me. I am a nocturnal snorter, but Sandy chooses to dwell on my many strengths.
    We have learned that focusing on each other’s weaknesses and imperfections weakens our marriage. So, we deliberately determine every day to concentrate on positives and not negatives.

Making Molehills into Mountains
    Many spouses make the mistake of allowing small annoyances to turn into federal cases. The molehills of bad habits and irritating behaviors that were