Hotel Beds

I miss my bed.  Desperately.  More than I thought possible.  I have decided that I am spoilt.  Nobody spoiled me, I managed to do that myself 5 years ago.  I went out and spent an extortionate amount of money on a tempur mattress and now I am spoiled.  Hubby has continued to spoil me in many random ways but that is by the by.

I love my bed.  I would live in my bed if I could get away with it.  I am not a lazy person by nature but it is so so very comfortable.  I think I could easily complete a necessary experiment to find out just how much one person could accomplish from her bed.

Maybe I am just getting old.  Every time I stay in a hotel of late, I wake up in the middle of the night with a pain in the shoulder I am sleeping on.  Bad enough to wake me up.  Either I am getting old and my joints are going into early retirement or I am spoiled.

The beauty of a tempur mattress is that it moulds itself to your body to ensure that you apparently lie in perfect alignment and do not put undue pressure on the joints that you are lying on.  I don't care personally, I just like the fact that I get in my bed and even now, 5 years later, in my mind I go "Ahhhhhh". 

Maybe I am not spoiled, maybe it's just my joints that are.  It's only my shoulder that hurts today and I do not have particularly bony shoulders (refer to previous posts about the desire to live in the gym for the next 6 months).  I've been out of bed now for a whole day and the shoulder is still telling me off for daring to subject it to such an inferior quality bed.

I am not the only one.  Hubby loves our bed.  He must because since we treated ourselves to a TV for the bedroom (under the pretence that I could use the, then, only TV to catch up on all my recorded programmes he would not be subjected to having to watch them also) he has spent most of his life in bed.  I have taken to calling him Grampa Joe because as per the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory story he spends most of his life in the bed but I can get him to get out of bed once in a while. 

Hubby claims that the bed is the most comfortable place to watch TV after a hard days work.  I would suggest to furniture manufacturers that they begin to make sofas and chairs out of tempur material but then I would never get to work let alone the gym or the housework.  Mind you, there's an idea - if they make work chairs of the stuff maybe they would get many of us to stay at work longer.

The fluffers have identified how comfortable the bed is and frequently try all sorts of covert moves to find their way into the bedroom to lie sublime on the top cover until I shoo them out of the room.  Then I get 3 looks of disgust and ignored for the rest of the day...well, until I tell them that it is teatime or time for a walk. Fred, the giraffe, has identified a way of opening B's door - he is either confused and forgets that B does not have a tempur mattress or finds our door handle much more difficult to manouvere. 

So, I am in this hotel room until Thursday morning.  I expect by that time that my shoulders will have gone on strike making the carrying and pulling of two suitcases (one of which is the approximate size of my house) almost impossible.  I wonder if I can find a random person on the street to drag said suitcases to the train.  Hubby has a meeting in some random town on the train route so he will be subjected to carry the suitcases the remainder of the way home.

The upside of all this travelling is the first night home.  After being flattened by the 3 fluffers while Beautiful B stands and waits for them to allow me to get up off the floor we all find ourselves sat on my bed as that is the first place I go.  I lie on the bed and say "I love my bed"....of course, after I tell the family I have missed them.

You will recall that I think Beautiful B is weirder than I.  One of my arguments for this line of reasoning is that she says our bed is uncomfortable and much prefers hers.  Now I don't torture my daughter - well not on purpose, apparently embarressing her (which I do on a frequent basis) is torture but personally I find that you can feel every spring in her mattress.  Maybe I should buy her a bed of nails and see if she finds that as comfortable, it really can't be much worse in my opinion.  Each to their own so for the moment, everyone else can think I am subjecting my daugher to an uncomfy bed; I, however, will know that she is secretly just weirder than me.