I wash my sheets.

[Foster's vehemence escalates to include hand gestures. He raises both of them, palms turned upward in vexation.]

What do you think I do, nut into the blanket and roll over and fall asleep?

I mean, he's basically riding you, and you seem pretty okay with that.

[As he speaks, he gets a particularly knowing look, turning his head to the side to regard Ginko askance.]

So maybe it's not the bed that's the problem.