Undercover operations
By Johnnie Carrier

Marriage is the only thing that can take good friends and turn them into people who fight over the bed covers as if they were Walter Houston and Humphrey Bogart wrestling over gold in the Sierra Mountains.
That's what it's all come down to in my house: Fighting over the covers on a damp spring night.
Most married folks, those with a sense of reality, fight over money -- how much they need to spend on the monthly bills while coming up short every month on the income part of the problem. It's an age-old problem that, when it really gets a good head of steam, can destroy a good relationship. But not in my house ...
Here's the scenario:
Howard Cosell: Hello sport fans and welcome to another fight of historic proportions here at the John James Carrier Arena. It's a pugilistic clash as old as time. In the red corner, weighing in at a number so big the Bank of America thought it was a bailout check, The Comeback Kid, the handsome adventurer. Yes friends, he's an underdog tonight -- mainly due to the fact that he has to wake up to his opponent tomorrow morning -- the challenger, Jumping Johnnie Carrier!
And in the blue corner, weighing in at a weight so secret that it will only be known by the coroner after she passes on, the World Champion Cover Stealer -- the hyphenated hot flash herself -- Dawn Luskin-Carrier.
Now the opponents are in the center of the ring, meeting with referee, Zelda the Wonder Pup, and she hopes this battle is a fast one because, like any good pup, she needs her beauty rest.
The only rule in this battle is no face punching -- a rule imposed after the Hyphenated Hot Flash laced Jumping Johnnie's jaw with a huge right cross during a mid-winter cold spell. ... The fighters shake hands and return to their neutral corners to await the starting bell.
Ding-Ding! And the fight is on. Jumping Johnnie takes the offensive and rolls away from his opponent, tucking his fair share of the covers under his impressive girth.
Screaming, "I hate when you do that!" the Hyphenated Hot Flash counters by tickling our bulky but sensitive hero. This move forces Jumping Johnnie to release those covers that he'll wish he had when he wakes up at 3 in the morning shivering like a junky on a Philadelphia street corner.
Rolling over to face his opponent, Jumping Johnnie tries reasoning by saying, "Please let me have my fair share of covers, or you'll be sleeping out on the front porch in a minute." That's something that hasn't happened since they both swore off the hard stuff 20 years ago. But the Hyphenated Hot Flash stays resolved, showing the spirit of a freedom fighter in the desert, only cleaner and not as hairy.
The Flash pulls the covers to her side of the bed with such force it blocks the air in Jumping Johnnie's windpipe. Near the point of blacking out due to a lack of oxygen, the underdog drags one of his toenails on the bottom of the champ's foot -- a move she has hated since that first night they shared a bed. But that was back in a time when the covers always ended up on the floor in a tangled mess, with no one really caring where the hell they were.
Mad after the old bottom of the foot tickle, the champ gets out of bed, swearing like no honest woman should, and starts bringing up the challenger's past mistakes and his mother's sanity (God rest her crazy soul).
Wishing she would leave his mom out of this, Johnnie cries, "She was a saint who just happened to be a little extravagant." "Extravagance," the hot flash kid counters, "is for the rich. She was crazy and you know it."
Jumping Johnnie makes a mental note for the rules committee to review: No mothers allowed in future contests.
Standing at the bottom of the bed, the Hyphenated Hot Flash tucks in the covers so tight that Jumping Johnnie feels like he's starring in a bondage film (again). But this old ploy won't float. As soon as she's done, he kicks out of that submission hold by doing that old dance known as The Worm.
Madder than the time when Jumping Johnnie told her that her skinny sister was "kind of hot," she rips off the covers, claiming the bed needs to be remade. This move sends Referee Zelda flying since she only weighs 7 pounds of dumb.
Friends, we have a real barn burner here tonight, with the only clear winner being Zelda, who, by the time the fight is over, is stretched out across the bed with all of the covers over her little furry frame.
Folks, I'll tell you like it is. Fighting over money in these tough times is not really necessary because no one has any. Nowadays, the real fight is in the bedrooms of America. It's a fight Jumping Johnnie won't have to worry about anymore tonight since he's now sleeping on the couch.
Johnnie Carrier is a freelance writer who once again froze all night long.