10 years ago I had my own bed. That bed was mine alone. I shared it with no one. Ah the priviledges of being an only child..It was probably like my own sacred place. Like a place of worship..or maybe, I was the patient & the bed was Mr. Sheraton. Psychiatrist. My shrink.
It was a single wooden bed with a pull-out underneath.
I used it to keep my notes, my short stories, and even pictures of people I would hide from the world (as if the world cares)tucked underneath. The bed knew my secrets & if it were alive, it would blackmail me & ask for 100% wool bedsheets.
But like a true behaviorist that I am (hah!), the bed was a reflection of who I was..Single, comfortable, relaxed, secretive..okay, eccentric and dilusional.. Now that bed is rotting in a dark storage place. My old photo albums still tucked inside the headboard shelf. Hay,..Memories of childhood, of uncertainty and vulnerability. Asus!!!
I now share a queensize with the guy I married 4 years ago...and that little guy born just months ago. It has no room for little secrets. The bed is bigger, stronger, stable and comfortable. Exactly what I am now with the "men" in my life.
Three years from now...maybe its time to buy a King Size?..
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