Apart from sex – women are annoying in bed. Eroticism aside, women have brought me nothing but trouble in bed. I sometimes look back with nostalgia on my teenage years, when I either enjoyed a relaxed night's rest alone or only briefly went to bed with a woman. The problems only began in the early twenties, when people shared the night's bed "like husband and wife", i.e. from going to sleep to getting up. I have to draw a very bitter conclusion from this.

Women are annoying in bed

“Nights of horror” is an understatement. During the day, quite calm, hands-on and modern women invariably mutate into spoiled, unfit for life, selfish bitches when faced with feather cores and down. As I will now conclusively prove with a few examples.

Let’s start with the unpleasant topic of “mosquitoes”. First of all, I have to say that I generally like lying next to a woman in the summer because then I am spared from mosquitoes. They always attack my partner. That's bitter, I'm personally really sorry, but it's no reason to complain rudely: "I'm completely stabbed." With a voice that modulates on the borderline between hysteria and nervous breakdown. The order to me, the male “security officer”, is clear: “Get up and go chase mosquitoes”. I don't know why women don't hunt mosquitoes themselves. Why do they do the spotting while lying in bed, point to black dots on the ceiling and say “There!” call. Above all, I don't know why I keep standing on the mattress, yawning, with disheveled hair and a rolled-up newspaper, killing animals when called upon.

Sex…preferably in the spooning position. I love this sleeping position because it reinforces my basic trust in the rightness of my existence. However, there are numerous women who initially appear very cuddly and passionately “spoon”, but turn out to be very stubborn when it comes to the final sleeping position. They push away from me with one hand, grab their own blanket with the other hand and defend this refuge with bitter resistance. And I have to wait patiently until the my-blanket-is-mine autistic person finally falls asleep and I can start crawling carefully to regain lost ground. When I have sunk into a deep sleep, half-heartedly spooning, the next mean thing often comes quickly. A brutal shove, usually delivered with the elbow, hits me in the side. I startle and hear a piercing voice: “You’re snoring!” I would never do something like that. I find it adorable when she talks in her sleep or blubbers a little to herself. I would never bump my elbow. But women don't care if you have an important appointment early in the morning. After the crime, they immediately fall back into a deep sleep, and I lie in the darkness with my eyes the size of dinner plates and can't find any peace.

Another variant of the physical attack is also horrific. You lie comfortably under your blanket, nodding away and then they come: cold, ice cold. Frozen women's feet slide slowly and inexorably between the male thighs. There they should be warmed. The man flinches, squirms, tries to escape, but the soft glaciers under the covers are stronger. All women have cold feet! All! And they know no mercy. Silent but demanding, they come crawling at night and suck off body heat in the gigawatt range. Dreadful!

But sometimes they don't give up even if you have de-iced their permafrost feet, stopped snoring and stopped spooning. Because then they heard something. “There’s someone there,” they whisper, “Something cracked” or “Do you hear those strange noises?” The message is once again crystal clear: Man, grab a wooden clothes hanger or some other makeshift weapon, venture into the dark apartment and drive away the burglar if you find one. It goes without saying that every man follows the deep-rooted instinct to protect his clan and stumbles around in the dark in his socks and underpants like an idiot. Only to then return to your partner (who is, of course, deeply asleep) cold and without having accomplished anything.

Anyone who thinks that the anger will be over by dawn is wrong! Like in a horror film that has apparently reached its creepy climax and then strikes again horribly: We're talking about different sleep and wake rhythms. I work until the early hours of the morning and consequently don't get up with the chickens. No problem for those who sleep alone. But what should I do with a woman who sits bolt upright in bed at seven in the morning, is bored, stretches loudly and audibly, yawns, clears her throat, seeks intrusive body contact and at the end even demands fluent conversation? After I hunted down blood-sucking insects, took elbow checks in thanks and was banished under my own cold blanket.

After all that, I finally had enough. And properly. Early one morning I was asked: “Can’t you sleep anymore?” woke up and rudely shouted at the woman next to me: “Shut up and make breakfast!” Shortly afterwards the apartment door slammed shut and I had to make breakfast myself. Is there no hope? Yes, there are!!! I met, well, someone. And this is different! She is cuddly and cuddles excessively. I can snore extensively in her presence. When she hears noises, she checks herself. She kills mosquitoes with her own hands with skillful blows, and she never has cold feet. Well, maybe she's a little playful.

But what cat is it not?


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"Dravens Tales from the Crypt" has been enchanting for over 15 years with a tasteless mixture of humor, serious journalism - for current events and unbalanced press reporting politics - and zombies, garnished with lots of art, entertainment and punk rock. Draven has turned his hobby into a popular brand that cannot be classified.

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