Oh also!

So when I walked in to pay for the bed yesterday, I felt a little bad for the saleskid, cause he saw a potential commission, and I was there to pay for something already sold. Sad trombone.

“Hi there,” he said.

“Good morning,” my brother Justin said. It was about 6PM.

The kid was a bit flustered but recovered quickly. “How can I help?”

I pointed at the sales counter. “I’m actually just here to..”

Saleskid dropped the mask. “Your hair is really cool.”


He noticed my Deadpool teeshirt. “Your SHIRT is cool!”

“Thanks again!”

“Sorry, were you headed to the bathroom?” It was the same direction as the counter.

“No, I’m here to pay for a bed. My friend Jen set it up for me.”

Of course he knew her. She’s awesome. I told him my name. “Even your NAME is really cool.”

“I’m not sure if you noticed, but um, I’m pretty cool all around,” I grinned. We joked about the little plushy dust mite on the counter, he rang me up, Justin and I got donuts on the way home. And today I figured out that Jen had saved me $2400.


Jen is cool. You guys are cool.

The end.


I have an awesome bed. It’s a heavy black wooden frame, vaguely Asian looking, beautiful, and you could lose yourself in it. My boyfriend and I bought it together, had it custom made for us, and it was a California King sized futon mattress. You could sleep three in it; he was an active sleeper, so the expanse of it allowed for him to not bother me with activity when we slept. The two of us had our own universe sized bed to ourselves and three cats. We eventually got tired of the futon and got a pillowtop mattress instead. Being a pillowtop mattress on a futon frame made the thing come up to my waist, I had to hop up a bit to get in to it. The relationship ended, I kept the bed. It was the one thing I insisted on, though he gracefully capitulated without a fight over it.

I really fucking love this bed.

I had to make some small concessions for my elderly cat, when he became unable to climb in; I put a little set of stairs at the foot, up to some storage bins covered in a blanket. The bins became a bench for me to sit at and put my boots on in the morning. But lately it was becoming a bit of a chore for me to climb in, anymore. I found that I was bracing myself against the wall next to the bed and kind of pushing myself in, or vaulting up.

So today, I asked my handyman brother to cut the bed legs down. He took about seven inches off. It was a hell of an effort, because I had to break it all down and the headboard and footboard are each one solid wood piece, the headboard weighs a ton. I disassembled it, he took the pieces outside, and cut all but an inch off of the legs.

OH MY GOD so much easier to get in to bed now. I can just sit down on the bed and not have to climb up in to it. I’m so grateful to him for having done this for me today. The cats are a bit pissed off, because they can’t go under the bed anymore, there’s only an inch clearance. Which is AWESOME for me, because that means they can’t run under there to puke anymore. It was…pretty gross under there after I’d disassembled it. Took me the better part of an hour to clean my floor.

I’m feeling a little maudlin about the whole thing, if I’m being quite honest. This is the first concession I’ve had to make for myself. The first home arrangement, the first furniture change to allow for easier access with my diminished ability. And it sucks that it had to happen to my glorious bed. Someday I’ll need help getting in and out of this thing, when my arms no longer have the strength to lift me up. That day is far away, but the day I’ve first needed to make a change is today. The bins at the end of the bed, originally for convenience, will be mandatory someday too. This is the first in a long line of things I’ll have to change because I just don’t have the strength to do it another way anymore.

The sadness I feel about having to butcher a beautiful piece of furniture, though, is diminished by my joy at it being much easier for me to get IN to the fucking thing.