Though Olof and I hadn’t met in person before the day I moved in with him, we had gotten to know each other quite well in the eight months that we talked before I came to Sweden. Since we built our relationship from a distance (primarily on the telephone — we rarely chatted online after the first month or so), we had no choice but to talk, talk, talk.

In fact, I think we probably got better acquainted the way we did things than we might have had we spent those eight months dating “conventionally,” in a setting where we could easily be distracted by movies, restaurants, friends, activities, etc. As it was, we focused almost entirely on each other, and when we were finally together in the same space, it took only a matter of minutes for us to feel comfortable in each other’s company. There was no awkwardness at all between us, because we already knew all the important things.

Or so I thought.

What I did not know was that he apparently is in training for the International Tooth-Grinding Championships. In his sleep, he grinds his teeth together so forcefully that the sound wakes me from a deep slumber. Every. Single. Night. Last night was by far the worst, with him going almost non-stop from the time he came to bed until I got up with Lydia this morning. Usually, when he starts, I nudge him gently or say his name, telling him softly, “Stop grinding your teeth.” Usually that works.

Last night, however, the usual just wasn’t cutting it, and before long I had progressed to sitting up and yelling, “Olof! For God’s sake! Enough with the fucking grinding already!” It’s a good thing he’s arranged with the dentist to get fitted for a bite guard to wear at night; otherwise we might soon become one of those couples who sleep in separate bedrooms.