Listen, I was hoping I could talk to you about something. This is kind of hard for me, I don’t usually put myself out there like this, but here goes. Ok. Phew. Deep breaths, Katie.

I know I haven’t known you for very long. I mean, I only just moved to this city six months ago. But if there’s one thing Minneapolis doesn’t lack, it’s Viking-descended Scandies who are tall enough to pluck a burning ember from a thatched roof and who have arms meant for hacking off the heads of unsuspecting Britons. “That may be true,” you might say, “But we don’t roof with thatch anymore, and Minnesota isn’t planning on invading the British isles anytime soon, so what good is my Hrothgar-like physique to me now?” Oh my tall sandy-haired darling, if only you knew.

I share a bed with a dog. It’s no big deal; he’s pretty chill most of the time, although he’s a little lackluster in the spooning department. That’s where you come in. It gets cold in Minneapolis, and I like to interlock toes with somebody like they’re funny little monkey hands. So here’s my proposal. I’m a tall long-limbed Scandy, you’re a tall long-limbed Scandy, let’s make optimal spooning happen. And I don’t mean like “Oh goodness I feel so vulnerable and insecure I need someone to fulfill his evolutionary purpose and protect me!” More like, “I get all fidgety at night and you seem likely to say something goofy in my ear that’ll me chortle for the next half hour, and also I like nibbling on fingers and oh look some fingers!” I’m not really interested in anything beyond spooning, although if you come to bed carrying a Mt. Dew and wearing a Rocko’s Modern Life t-shirt, I might reconsider. But let’s stick with the spooning right now.

Here’s what I’m looking for:

1. Don’t be a leaner. If you’re going to spoon, you’re going to have to practice the zen art of laying perpendicular to the bed. Leaning too far back just means at some point you’re no longer spooning with me and I’m just one-half of a ninety degree angle. Leaning too far forward means you’re going to end up crushing me under the weight of your skinny-yet-surprisingly-svelte nubile Norwegianness, and I’ve already got shoulder problems.

2. Leg Oreos. I know, I know, we’re so white Hitler would have had wet dreams about us, so our Oreo will probably end up looking more like the product of scooping the cream innards out of three cookies and stacking them on top of each other – deliciously creamy, deliciously white. I’m going to periodically stick my leg in between your legs (remember, you’re perpendicular with the bed so they should be one on top of the other anyway) to keep mine warm. I am then going to wrap my foot around the back of yours and stick all my cold little toes in between your toasty ones. I don’t really care if this is uncomfortable for you; this is my spooning proposal. Take it or leave it.

3. Optimal arm placement. Your left arm (did I mention we’re always spooning toward Mecca?) can either go on my left hip and lay draped down my leg, across my ribcage just below my boobs, or up and parallel with my left arm, hooking a hand up and toward the back of my shoulder. DO NOT PUT YOUR ARM ACROSS MY STOMACH. I am very self-conscious about my soda-and-cheese-filled belly, especially when gravity is pulling it sideways at an odd angle. I’d rather not wake up in the middle of the night to discover you absentmindedly poking at my rolls.

4. Spooning is like shaking hands: save that weak shit for panda bears and kids with polio. When you shake a person’s hand, firm is good. Firm says, “I’m successful at what I do.” Firm says, “I could probably beat up your dad.” Firm says, “I buy Hungry Man Frozen Gorilla Thunderdome Food Units, not those pansy Kashi Frozen Koala Bear Farts.” Spoon in kind: hold tight. I mean, don’t crush my diaphragm or break any bones or anything like that, but I need to feel like I’m not just leaning against a row of jellyfish.

5. Don’t bitch about having hair in your face. It’s a byproduct of spooning that you’re just going to have to deal with. Take comfort in the fact that my hair usually smells like hibiscus extract and the smiles of happy full-bellied children. Stick your nose in there and get a good whiff. Also, it’s pretty soft because I’m nice to it. So I guess you’re welcome for putting my head of hair in your face.

6. Be prepared for/comfortable with switching to little spoon at any moment. I’m a type A personality with some serious festering control issues, and when I’m bedtime cohabitating this usually manifests itself in the form of me deciding on a whim that I CANNOT BE CONTROLLED. I’ll probably roll over and head butt you lightly, which you should take as a sign to flip your little butt over and let me lead the dance for a while. I reserve the right to absentmindedly poke at your rolls.

Man! I’m so glad I finally asked! I was all nervous! So just let me know what you think, and I hope you don’t mind spending three hours watching Blackadder on Netflix, because that’s how I usually start a world-class spooning sesh. It’s kind of a deal-breaker if you think Rowan Atkinson’s nasally British one-liners are a mood killer. Call me.

–Katie Sisneros has practiced spooning techniques with Sarah Heuer on several occasions.

Pictured: Pirate and Ninja, two kittens Katie used to live with, demonstrating the art of proper spoonage.