While in the Basque Country, we had the luxury of staying in my grandmother’s (or Amuma’s) apartment. It was luxurious because it was free. This flat has been sitting empty for about six months, so I knew to expect some kinks. I did, however, forget about Amuma’s bed.
The last time I was in the Basque Country, ten years ago, the bed sagged in the middle, and every morning it was a work out just to launch myself out of the mattress taco. The second I stepped into the room, I could see that the bed had not been replaced in the last ten years. Biff and I were in for a treat.
You see, we are not cuddlers. After we kiss each other good night, a strict no invasion policy goes into effect: You don’t touch me, and I don’t touch you. Mainly this is because neither one of us likes to be hot when we are sleeping. So I knew that this sagging monstrosity before us was going to test our patience.
And apparently, I am not nice in the middle of the night. I get very angry. My Basque-ness comes out, and I say mean things I might regret in the morning if my precious sleep is disturbed. Also, because I am a light sleeper, when something touches me in the middle of the night, I immediately think “SPIDER!” and try to kill whatever is touching me.
Every night, we constantly tried to keep afloat on the sides of the bed so we wouldn’t roll onto each other, which would kick-start my spider-killing flailing. It seems humorous now, but at the time, it was a matter of life or death. Especially one night when Biff decided to get back at me for my meanness, and tickled my armpit. WHILE I WAS SLEEPING. I went into spider attack mode. And when I heard Biff giggling, I rolled over, grabbed the top of the mattress, pulled myself up as far as I could and demanded: “I want a divorce.” Biff replied: “You can’t divorce me! We aren’t even married yet!” HRMPH. He claims I immediately went back to sleep and started to snore, but I distinctly remember plotting my revenge for at LEAST three seconds.
When we arrived home, I took a look at our little full-sized bed and shivered. We were never going to be able to sleep together again. The nightmare of being tickled in my sleep haunted me. And last night was my wake-up call to buy a new, bigger bed. Biff was having a hard time sleeping, which woke me up because the slightest noise can do that to me. (If it is a noise, I think MOSQUITO! and I try to kill it.) I rolled over on my back, and ow! There is an elbow in my back. I nudged it, thinking Biff was sleeping and he would move over onto his side of the bed (because no matter what he tells you, he WAS on MY side of the bed.) No give. None. In fact, I am pretty sure the elbow moved MORE onto my side of the bed. Angry that Biff was stonewalling me, I rolled back onto my side and sighed. Loudly. And that did it. Biff was mad. Then he plotted his revenge on me all night.
After a heated argument this morning, I decided: we are getting a new bed. More importantly, I decided that THIS is the kind of information newlyweds need to know. The only gift at a wedding should be a new, giant king sized beg. I have a feeling a large bed is the answer to a lot of problems!