So last night I decided to try something new for my girlfriend’s bedtime routine. She’d been stressed from work lately and kept tossing around like a fish outta water. I remembered she always loved those cheesy romance novels, so around 9 PM I grabbed my laptop and mumbled, “Babe, how ’bout I tell you a custom bedtime story?”
The Fumbling Start
First I just winged it – total disaster. Started describing some random prince saving a princess, but kept messing up details. She sat up squinting at me: “Since when do dragons work at Starbucks?” That’s when I realized I needed actual preparation. Pulled up Google Docs around midnight after she fell asleep, typing one-handed while she snored on my shoulder.
Building the Story Bank
Next three days I became a spy. Listened to her:
Complain about Karen from accounting = made Karen the villain
Squeal over stray cats near her office = added talking cat sidekick
Mention her childhood fear of basements = created underground candy kingdom
Wrote five stories with these elements, ending each with inside jokes only we’d get. Felt pretty clever until…
The Tech Meltdown
Tried being fancy Wednesday night. Hooked my phone to Bluetooth speaker for ocean sounds – and blasted heavy metal from my workout playlist instead. Nearly gave her a heart attack. Went back to basics after that:
Dimmed lights manually with the switch
Kept stories under 10 minutes
Always had water nearby when my throat got raspy
What Actually Worked
By Friday night we’d nailed it. She’d curl up facing me with one hand under her pillow. My three winning moves:
Structured chapters – Each night continued where yesterday left off
Silly voices – Especially for the sassy cat character
Physical touches – Lightly scratching her scalp during tense plot points
Caught her smiling with closed eyes twice this week. Woke up yesterday to find she’d downloaded Grammarly just to fix my story typos – that’s true love right there.
Still improving though. Last story went overtime cause I improvised a dragon tax audit subplot. Note to self: IRS jokes don’t belong in bedtime fantasies.
