the ocean

We finally decided to upgrade to a king size bed, which arrived this weekend. The extra space is an unalloyed delight and the dog is demonstrably less afraid that we will crush her in our sleep now. However, because it was us, it could not help but also be a disaster.

We love our current queen sized bed frame, which is super cute and comfortable and cost way more than I would like to admit to spending on such a thing. So rather than get rid of it, we decided to save it for when we move into a bigger place and have a third bedroom to outfit. So we rented a storage unit, in the middle of a pandemic, at the place with the world’s chattiest staff.

“You can also use it as a man cave,” they explained. “Just come over here whenever you feel like it and hang out.”

Because who doesn’t dream of sitting in a tiny, windowless room and, I don’t know, looking at their stuff?

The plan was for frame, mattress, and box spring to go to storage. Except it turns out the box spring wouldn’t fit down our stairs. The good news is that it would scrape the paint off our walls. Cut to me attacking the box spring with a handsaw so that, while no longer usable in any form, it could at least depart from our lives forever. It was weirdly satisfying.

Then there was the giant truck the storage place lent us to move these items. It moved with a gazelle like grace, obviously, and we completely did not accidentally drive it all the way down North Avenue with the rear sliding door wide open. 

The important thing is that no one was harmed.

Oh, and our new bed frame doesn’t arrive until late December, so we are low riding it like Mike and Carol Brady until then. I like to think being closer to the floor brings you nearer to god.