I'm a big girl now.

I got a new bed.

I’ve been sleeping in the same bed since I was freshman in high school. A single-sized, brass daybed, which was of course the shit when I got it but over time, became my albatross. As the bed got older it creaked like the Tin Man, a problem my mother temporarily remedied by stuffing bits of tissue in the various joints of the bed. Over time even this remedy was to no avail.

I slept in the bed through high school. Then I went to college where every dorm room had a single bed, even smaller than what I was accustomed to, and the daybed went into storage. When I came home for visits and vacations I would sleep in my parent’s guest room which always had a cushy double bed in it for my sleeping pleasure.

When I moved into my first apartment in 1998 my only possessions were my daybed, a TV stand and my dresser. My mattress served as the only piece of furniture in my living room until my parents took pity on me and bought me a couch. I then took to sleeping on the couch instead of the noisy bed.

The size of my daybed was a hindrance to my sex life for many years. The thought of having an overnight guest crammed next to me in that tiny bed sent me into waves of embarrassment. Especially once the bed frame broke and I took to simply laying the mattress on the floor.

I also felt a tad bit immature sleeping in a single bed after the age of 20. Don’t ask me why I never got a bigger bed before now. It was always on my list of things I need but was often replaced by items I deemed more important, namely my never ending stack of monthly bills.

So finally, at age 32 I have a double bed of my very own. Sleeping has been lovely, even though I’m still sleeping alone. The bed has yet to improve my sex life or my prospects of an overnight guest. Then again, I’ve only had it for a week. But hey, at least it’s there –just in case.