I can't believe we didn't think of this before.
We realized this truth the night Kip woke me up shivering. After giving him all of the available blanketage (which included one sheet, an electric blanket that doesn't actually work but still provides warmth out of sheer mass, and a throw blanket), I trekked out to the giant basket of blankets and quilts that we keep in the living room, grabbed a few for myself, and thus reached nirvana. The next morning, there was no half-playful, half-serious blanket-tugging; no cold feet ruining what would otherwise have been a pleasant morning. Oh no, my friends, the birds were singing, the sun was shining, and it seemed Albert Einstein himself looked down from above and declared, "Genius! If only Mrs. Einstein and I had thought of that!"
Since our stroke of insight a few days ago, we have started spending an inordinate amount of time in bed among our three blankets: one to share, and one for each of us to hog. (Technically, I should say four blankets, since we also keep one folded at the foot of the bed just in case our needs expand.) I think it says something about individual versus corporate identity in marriage. Or maybe just how cold our bedroom is. So there you go, married bloggers of the blogosphere: three blankets. You're welcome.