I am. THE most. Miserable. Person to share a bed with. (like real sleep)
Not that the person sharing the bed with me is miserable -- no, I am.
See, I'm a cuddler. I love to be close and snuggly. During waking hours.
When it's time to hit the hay, I need my space for slumber. I don't mind contact while I sleep - I just can't stand being breathed on.
Yes, breath. To Hubs's defense, this issue long outlives our relationship. He's up on his hygiene, and it's not a smell issue. It's the heat that gets me.
I remember laying in between my parents on their bed on the rare occasion I would end up in their room - and have them both facing me -- asleep. Breathing on me. Arms over me. I learned what claustrophobia was long before I could pronounce it. I had no place to turn, no way to leave.
Between that and my light sleeper status - I've been known to obsess over avoiding being breathed on or breathing on Hubs. I'll toss and turn to adjust my position, and heaven forbid should he turn my way once I'm situated. Often my little 5'4" body is shifted so that my feet hang over the end of the bed in order to breathe on an entirely different plane than him.
Hot used breath bugs me.
This is why an airplane sitting on the tarmac without air actively blowing bugs me.
There is an eHarmony (or the like) commercial on right now where a couple is forehead-to-forehead standing there breathing each other's air (who does that?) and it nearly causes me to spiral in panic.
It's a miserable problem. I've known no other person who has this issue.
I'm off the hook nuts-o.