In the Good Old Days, when I shared my bed with my partner (or he shared his bed with me!), we decided early on that there was His Side and My Side of the bed, on a 50/50 basis. Which was all very well in theory. In practice, I got a tiny sliver right at one edge, with barely enough room to lie on my side, clinging for dear life to the edge of the mattress. While His Lordship took up the other 9/10ths of the space, spread-eagled luxuriously. From time to time I'd have an arm crashing into my face, or a knee in the kidneys, but I learned to hang on just the same, as precarious a hold as it was.
Occasionally, the system failed. If he decided to roll onto his side, he'd snuggle up to me, which was very nice, except that the slightest pressure from his body weight would send me, literally, over the edge, and onto the floor. Most times I could just pick myself up and push and shove him towards the centre of the bed, growling 'Move over, you big oaf!' and he'd sleepily comply. Other times, I'd have to walk around to His Side and lie down there. It was seldom a successful manoevre, however. When his flailing arm crashed onto my face, the fact that it was 'the wrong arm' would be enough to rouse him, and he'd demand that I 'get over to your own side, woman!'. And the whole cycle would start again.
Now that he's gone, I have the whole bed to myself. Yet I still cling to My Side, and I've noticed that His Side is getting more and more vast as my loneliness increases.
I never thought I'd say this, but I'd give a lot to be pushed out of bed again!