I have bunk beds. I kept them actively bunked and I slept on the single bed created for a 13 year old until about two years ago. They have been in every apartment and in my house since I was 12. It’s not just some cheap ass bunk bed set, it’s a very nice heavy wood set, and it has the top bunk and the bottom bunk and you can rearrange them to fit a dresser underneath, and all kinds of things.
That is what my bunk bed set looks like, only dark wood, not light wood.
When my cat was little, she would jump from the bottom bed to the very tippy edge of the dresser, then on to the top bunk. I started pulling the dresser out for her, and she would jump up there and then settle into her bed. I started making the bed up just for her. Everywhere I’ve lived since I have had my kitty, my beds looked like this so that she could have her bed.
AJ decided he needed a new bed a few years ago, and said that I needed a grown up bed, so I inherited his old bed which is a queen sized bed. That takes up pretty much all of my bedroom. I put the bunk bed in my “library”, without the bottom bed, and I put a desk under it. I used to use my iMac there until my parents inherited my iMac and I just use my laptop. But the bunk bed has always been there for Sabrina, and she has always used it up until recently. Now she likes to snuggle with me a lot, so she does not go up on her bed as much, if ever. Since there was no bottom bunk, she uses her kitty condo to jump up to the top bunk.
I felt very exposed and naked after being debunked and getting a grown up bed. There was nothing above my head and there was no dresser hiding me from bad guys that might come in, because, you know, bad guys don’t look beyond a dresser, they just assume no one is there. And if you have something above your head, especially something like a whole entire other bed, then they REALLY don’t mess with you. Either because they know you are protected in your Cave of Happiness, or they think you are really super special and they can’t bring themselves to pillage and kill you. Either way, adult sleeping in a bunk bed cave means safety. Keep that in mind.
I got used to sleeping in a queen bed, mostly because it is no different than a single bed when you add a squishy kitty who is little but still manages to take up 3/4 of it. I would still prefer a cave.
In my effort to move myself and all of my things into my two bedrooms upstairs (bedroom and the library room), I decided it was time to pass my amazing bunk bed set on to a worthy child. My brother would not let me give it to them because I have two nieces, and one awesome bunk bed set, and that does not work out in niece world. So my friend Karyn’s kid gets it.
This leads up to yesterday when I decided I would debunk the beds and take it all apart by myself. This is normally, at the very least, a two person job – ideally a three person job. But no, I was going to do it myself because I am so strong and so physically capable (I hurt myself by sitting funny and couldn’t walk right for several weeks)(I am not physically capable in any way)(to do anything at all). I started and was doing pretty well until I got to the part where I needed to be in three places, all about two feet apart from each other. I needed to hold up the two end pieces that make up the ladder, and I needed to hold up the middle. So I got stuck. Yes, like, I could not move, I was stuck. I had things balanced very precariously and I was holding the middle part and balancing the two very heavy end parts. I had to call my 70 year old mother and her friend and they had to drive to my house and unstick me.
Chris, my moms friend, went straight to one of the ends that clearly needed to be held up and she held it. My mom, in her attempt to get to the other side and do the same thing, opted to take the most difficult route possible and essentially get herself stuck in another part of my room. Like mother, like daughter.
This was humiliating for multiple reasons. One, I hadn’t showered because I was cleaning. Two, I was not wearing a bra. Three, I was covered and soaked in sweat because I had been working for about three hours prior to getting stuck. Four, what kind of a dumbass tries to do this on her own and then gets stuck?!
I got everything taken apart and that was when I realized I have no chair. This was a profound realization for me. I went from college to a basement apartment. From a basement apartment to a really nice apartment. From a really nice apartment to a basement. From that basement to my parents house. At one point in this string of events, I had a fairly large apartment filled with furniture. At THIS point in this string of events, I don’t have a chair. My big plans to have a lovely sitting room were foiled because I’d have to sit on the floor, and I just don’t do that. At my age, I feel I should have at least a chair to show for my life, you know? Or a Chaise Lounge, that would be ideal. I would love to have a Chaise Lounge to show for myself. A really comfortable one, like the one my brother and sister in law have at their house.
That is not really anything like what their looks like, but it was the closest I could find. Theirs is all nice and squishy and not all hard looking like this one. But the other pictures that I found were even less like theirs.
I forget what I was talking about so I’m going to go right ahead and talk about how much I hate when people call a sandwich a “sammy”. I just can’t even stand that. I won’t eat something if you call it a sammy, I don’t care how delicious it is. There is no “m” in sandwich, so to call it a sammy means you are saying “samwich” and I hate that even more than sammy. I LOVE sandwiches. Cereal, potatoes, then sandwiches. Those are the best food groups. I do not like toasted bread on a sandwich, though, because then when you bite into it, it hurts the top of your mouth.
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