All Hail the Queen

So, as I’ve mentioned before, I live alone (ignoring for the moment K-poo Weak Hand’s extended stay). When I moved back from that third world country called Louisiana, I ditched everything that wouldn’t fit in the 6x6x8’ container, including my bed. (And by “my” bed, I mean the bed I got from my sister who got it from my brother and sister-in-law who possibly got it from my parents. It was time.) So I bought a new, expensive, queen size bed, figuring that I’d have all sorts of room to roll around and still not come near the edge.

Yeah, right.

The reality is that I get a one foot wide strip on the very edge of the bed, and it’s a good thing that I’m pretty aware of where I am when sleeping or I’d have fallen off the bed multiple times. I start out with the entire bed to myself, then the big dog climbs into bed and takes the middle, forcing me to move over. (Hey, the dog is old and blind and arthritic, and if she can sleep comfortably on the bed, it’s worth it.) Then the cats pile in and lean on me, which is fine, but if I try to change position on the bed, they flop into the space I’ve temporarily vacated, leaving me with less and less room. And if my toes hang over the end, Guido attacks them.

To paraphrase that guy from Jaws, I think we need a bigger bed…