Have you tried sleeping on a top bunk as an adult? I attempted that feat last night. I imagine any flies on the wall were pissing themselves with laughter.
I am tall for a girl you see. I am known amongst one group of friends, all of whom are petite gorgeous things, as ‘the giant’. I’d be affronted were it not a.) so brutally accurate, b.) a self given name after years of laughing at photos of us. I tower above them, and add a pair of heels into the equation and it’s game over – my head is partially/totally lopped off on close ups of the six of us.
So I fill a bunk bed. Toes touching the frame at the bottom, a centimetre or so between my forehead and the frame at the top.
Add to this the fact my child is sleeping on the bottom bunk and is generally a light sleeper.
Add to this the fact that, whilst I am neither three sheets to the wind nor tanked up enough to have a hangover the following day, I have over the course of a thoroughly pleasant afternoon and evening sipped my way through a few glasses of wine and am at the silly stage where your footsteps seem as loud as an elephant’s and you are hyper aware of every creaky floorboard and squeaky door, and so you creep around rather like I imagine a rhino in slippers and a tutu would, making more noise by trying to be quiet.
Add to that the fact I am clumsy. DREADFULLY CLUMSY. And so I am paranoid that I will at some point in the night roll off said top bunk like a sack of potatoes, dropping from a height of twenty foot (OK FOUR FOOT, IT’S STILL HIGH), crashing through the ceiling and landing on my mother-in-law’s very lovely dining table, breaking it in half and shattering a load of windows in the process. WHAT? IT COULD HAPPEN.
What this looked like, I imagine, was a lanky moron tip-toeing into a dark room like a burglar in a comedy sketch, flinging themselves inelegantly onto the top bunk and making the whole thing shake like it was about to upend itself, and then lying with their back against the wall as far away from the edge as possible, listening to their child stir and deciding they will not move at all from this position to avoid disturbing said child and killing themselves. And then realising it is the most uncomfortable position imaginable. All to the distant soundtrack of their husband and brother-in-law doing karaoke to ‘Hungry Eyes’ from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack.
And then realising how utterly ridiculous this must look and in the process of trying to not laugh raucously, SNORTING. REPEATEDLY.
Glad to report that I did not plummet from height, or disturb Blake, and I had a significantly better sleep than my poor husband who found himself on the sofa after an air bed fail and did not really sleep at all.
And it was a great weekend – Happy Birthday Ross-in-law!
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