I’m working from home starting in about an hour because we need to be there to greet the Bearers of the New Bed.

Yes, last weekend we purchased a queen sized bed.  Barring trips to hotels or other luxurious spots, we had, until tonight, been sleeping in a double (known euphemistically as a “full”) sized bed.  It was fine at first.  We’re both smallish people, and in the first year we wanted to cuddle all the time, so it was no big deal.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I still like Denny quite a bit, and cuddling has its place and time, but you know what else does?  Splaying.  I really like to splay, especially in hot weather.  Also, Denny has really pointy knees.  It’s not the kind of thing I would think to examine in a potential mate, but I now realize it should be a factor.  A couple of weeks ago, I was awakened in the night by two pointy rocks jamming into my thigh, as Denny had decided to roll over onto his side and face me.

We’d been talking about it for a while, so we finally broke down and bought a big bed.  It’s not a king-sized, which I think are too big.  I get lonely in them.  I like cuddling to be a possibility, and when I’m groggy in a king-sized bed, it’s like crossing the freaking Alps to find somebody on the other side.  I also tend to get confused in the night and think illogically, and if I don’t have immediate evidence of who is in the bed with me, I think it’s a stranger, and I get anxious and curse myself for not wearing pajama pants.  You’d think if there were a stranger in my bed, my outfit would be the least of my worries, but there is no explaining the things I do in a semi-conscious state.

I’m happy about the queen-sized, which I think will be a good compromise of spaciousness and human accessibility.

I want to jump on it, but somebody is trying to dissuade me.  Hmph.