All My Bed's A Stage

 And Bunny and I are merely players.



Sorry, guys; it's not what you think. No tawdry tales of voyeurism here, I'm actually talking about the bed.

The bed is not made. The bed is never made.

Making beds is how society tries to keep us from  

doing things that actually matter. Like watch TV.



Now, I love my bed; I got the delicate 4-poster frame cheap from a friend who was moving, and may or may not have then strung hedge-net-style Christmas lights interwoven with leaf garlands over it. It is my precious fairy bower, and Bunny is just man enough to not be totally emasculated by its dominating presence in our room. The bed is wonderful. But that window...

We moved into this house last January, and Bunny & I scored the master bedroom by dint of putting all our stuff in it while the other 4 roomies were getting the couch up the front stairs. It's on the top floor, so it's warmer than the downstairs bedrooms, and best of all it's carpeted -- I'll do cold wood/tile/linoleum/etc, just not as my first step out of bed in the morning. It is an altogether superior room, with only one glaring indiscrepancy; it has, for some reason, a storefront display window. It starts low, about 3/4 of a foot off the floor, and goes up almost to the ceiling -- and, as you might have noticed, it's about as wide as a bed is long. Because who would want to miss an inch of this HOT FURNITURE ACTION.

 Maybe our neighbors. But screw 'em.

I freely admit that if we didn't have a 4-poster fairy bower, we could've oriented the bed another way without hitting the ceiling fan. And that it's the boxed-in sensation of being under that canopy which turns the weirdly-sumptuous drapes on this big-ass window into a puppet show's stage curtain, inspiring the urge to do a one-man Punch & Judy show. After I regain consciousness, however, I object that it is that weirdo window that robs our room of its superior-upstairs-heat all winter, and greenhouse-blasts the place all summer. To which my nonexistent opponent raises one invisible eyebrow and asks why we chose it in the first place then. And I am forced to rebut with Are you kidding, look at the SIZE of that thing; it's Alaska, man, I need the LIGHT.

Plus, some previous inhabitants painted one wall aubergine and the others buttercream. That's OUTSTANDING.