I Bought a Bed

Most men in any kind of (presumably) committed relationship dread sleeping on the couch. It is a region of penance, a form of punishment dolled out by mad wives ever since the invention of living room sets.

Not me.

When we moved into Our First Apartment ("By Mattel!") we were gifted a two-person loveseat made out of...something synthetic. It was the color of stale cat hoark and had an ever-growing number of unsightly cracks in the upholstery that would expose the padding underneath and the burrs would continuously catch on fabric and scratch on skin.

It remains the most comfortable piece of furniture I own.

Since moving out west, I have slumbered upon this monstrosity every night, and some hard-worked afternoons as well. I derive glee, joy, happiness, all the good emotions you can think of, from sleeping on this loveseat. It's certainly not big enough for two people, so any evening back in the Stupid Ages when I would contentedly doze off on the thing would result in being rudely awoken by The Slut telling me to come to bed.

After enough times of this happening, I reminded her that I have had a sleeping disorder for many years wherein I find it very hard to fall asleep, so finding a comfortable couch that lets me actually nod off the way most normal people do is nothing shy of miraculous, and that when it occurs I am not to be woken and, hence, forced to try to fall asleep all over again.

Sure, in hindsight that was probably a bit much. The point is that I had finally found a mechanism that ensured a good night's sleep, and in utilizing this mechanism once a week or so created more tension in the relationship than I felt it warranted. She was upset that I would ever choose a good night's sleep alone over a bad night's sleep with her. Who knows? My sleeping habits were probably the beginning of the end.

Either way, I took the couch with me to Washington, where it has been a beloved companion for me every night as I go about my preparations for evening retirement. I don't ever want to get rid of it. So, as the title of the post suggests, I bought a bed today. The furniture store down the street was having a ridiculously good sale: their stock was all reduced in price and being sold without tax and today was the day to strike while the iron was hot. So I ventured over with Monk and Stef and, after carefully reviewing all of their options, settled on buying the exact same bed that Monk and Stef bought there seven months ago.

Sometimes, I am completely shameless.

In all honesty, it's a damned good bed with a ton of storage (think "mattress on top of dresser-built-sideways"). The fact it's built like a fort makes a box spring unnecessary, so now all I need to do is narrow down what kind of memory-foam mattress I want and pick out some sheets.

The Ramones pillowcase stays.

I've been wanting a bed for quite a while now, which is odd considering my love of the loveseat. It's not that I need to get rid of the loveseat, or because I mind all the negative effects it has on my spine. No, I've wanted a bed for a couple of reasons. Firstly, owning a bed in this timezone signifies a formal and official residency out here. You haven't really moved somewhere until you've got enough big heavy shit there to ensure that moving somewhere else is going to be a huge pain in the ass.

Secondly, the possibility will, I hope, someday exist of showing my bedroom to a real live human female. A remark like "let me show you the couch I've been sleeping on for the last seven months" is what we call a "dealbreaker". Other dealbreakers include:

• "Yeah, so I'm totally between jobs right now, but it's cool because I'm living with some friends of mine who have a sweet air mattress I can use."
• "...so I've never even really needed a driver's license. Isn't that great?"
• "Yeah, I don't have a gym membership, but when my buddy goes I tag along and use their steam room and steal a towel or two."