I was thinking about my bed the other night, as I was trying to fall asleep. It’s funny how the mind wanders from one thing to another. Thinking about my bed brought me to some memories of when I was younger.
See, I was thinking how silly I feel having to climb into my bed like a kid, how beds seem so much taller now than when I was younger. Taller up top, but not as much room beneath. I remembered how I used to jump out of my bed when I had a nightmare because I was convinced there was a monster or murderer hiding underneath, just waiting for me to put my foot on the floor. Jumping to the middle of the room and making a run for it seemed safest. Something – or someone! – could be hiding under there!
Then I remembered something that happened when I was in high school.
I used to walk a few blocks out of my way sometimes to meet up at my friend’s house to catch the bus. One day, I knocked on her door and found out that she was staying home from school because she was sick. Her mother had already gone to work for the day so it was nothing for me to simply decide to stay home with her. We had fun playing hooky, until close to lunch time when my friend told me her mother would be home soon and I should probably go. Only, where was I going to go? My mother was home from work that day herself so I couldn’t go there. Quick thinker that I was (oh shut up!) I decided to hide under her bed.
We waited until the last possible minute, as her mother pulled into the driveway, before I wiggled under her bed. I laid there, stifling giggles, for an hour, while she ate some lunch and puttered around, asking her daughter how she felt, if she’d gotten started on homework, that kind of stuff. After she left, I crawled back out and we continued our day of hooky until it was safe for me to go home.
I had some room under that bed. I mean, not like I could do jumping jacks, but it wasn’t an impossible fit, I could turn my head and had some movement if I had an itch or something.
Not like today – my kids couldn’t fit under the beds we have now. And not just because I still keep tons of stuff under it either. For, uh, storage purposes, you know.
On the one hand, I’m glad bed manufacturers have made it pretty much impossible for anyone to hide under beds anymore. On the other hand, I wish I didn’t feel like I was 4 years old every night at bedtime.