I feel sorry for my bed.
Not that it is in the bad shape. It is perfectly fine. A queen-sized bed, a focal point in my bedroom, ready anytime to take its daily duty. Having someone, something, sometail (yea kitty, I’m looking at ya) laying on it.
I’m glad my bed is nowhere close in joining the union worker for overworked bed. It will be the president of the bed union. My husband and I work in different shifts, hence different sleep schedule… then you add one 7 year-old stuck in the middle of it, and one lazy fat cat in the mix… and four of us love this bed. We love this bed so much, we make sure we get the best of it. Oh, before I forget, sometimes it’s more than 4 of us – if you count lego pieces, my magazines and books, random clothing items and sometimes one of my boy’s toygun. Yep. That gun just somehow manages to hide under the bed. Clever little toy.
So… my bed works in the day (with me sleeping on it, with the cat somewhere on it), it works in the evening (with my husband and my cat somewhere on it), in the weekend (with my husband, me and my cat somewhwere on it too) and in between (with three of us, my son will be unwillingly sandwiched for 30 seconds then he’d manage to escape, and have I mentioned about cat?).
You think New York never sleeps? My bed can triumph that city any time of the day. My bed is a place to crash, to snuggle. A place where the side lamp hits perfectly on my book. A place where my husband throws his coat. A cozy little island for my son when he pretends he is fishing. A perfect hiding spot for those friggin’ legos pieces, a pedestal for my cat (for some odd reasons she manages to place her butts on one of the bedpost, believe it or not).
Growing up, I saw my parents’ bed in the same condition. My dad put a TV in the bedroom. So there you have it. A multitasking bed. Four of us (me, mom, dad and my sister) squeezed on to one bed to watch whatever. Then we brought snacks. The bed even became an unofficial spot for gossiping corner. You got a new gossip? Let’s head to mom’s bed! I napped there. My sister too (I think she still does it, even though she is 30 years old now). I remember my mom, lightly grudging, told the bed, “my poor bed, you never rest…. there is always someone on you.” Guess what, mom. I have one too, here.
I believe there is a heaven for beds.