This past saturday evening marked the end of an era in my household. I am sentimental about the strangest things...
My parents bought a king size bed when they got married in 1967. Up until last weekend it was still being used by my parents (mostly my dad because my mom decided she wanted her own room, "for the first time in her life", after I moved out) Anyway, this monstrosity of a bed, complete with yellow, pink and orange roses dotting it's surface, still sat in the same place as it did 43 years ago. I remember thinking when I was a kid that it was the biggest and best bed ever. I loved to jump up and down on the bed when my parents weren't watching me closely. I would roll all over the bed while my mom would sew wedding dresses. I always felt really safe when I was in that bed. (Incidentally, I also have a sneaky suspicion that I was conceived on that bed. My mother insists that it could have been anywhere, but I sort of like thinking that this bed was where I became the multicellular organism you all know and love today.)
That is why, when my dad and I took the 3 ton mattress to the county dump and threw it into the dumpster, I was a little sad. My dad was not sad. He could not wait to sleep on his new queen size mattress. Go figure.
So long, to the place where I was made. So long to my happy bouncy spot, so long to my big soft squishy friend, bon chance box springs! I hope some homeless people got you out of that dumpster.
2 comments:
I sold my king size bed to my friend Jason and his wife (the succubus) for 250 dollars. Worst decision I ever made. I should have just kept it in my small, small apartment bedroom, even though it barely left enough room for me to open the closet. Having a bedroom that was 94% king size bed was cool and comfortable.
Your mom said you could've been conceived anywhere? Eep. I would've felt torn between feeling queasy and needing a list of the other possibilities.
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