Sleepless in Sofa-(eattle)

After watching one too many episodes of Olivia Benson catching skeevy perps, I dozed off on the couch. I woke up around oneish to a series of texts from my bed. You see, I had mono a few months back and my bed has been a bit clingy lately. They were on me like a hospital fold- tight. I read the texts, imagining the flow chart of anxiety that climbs with each message.

“It’s getting a bit late. Perfect time to snuggle up and catch those Z’s.”

“Popped on the AC, just how you like it. Perfect for a comforter, but not so cold you need a nightcap and socks. Free those feet. LOL.”

“Hey babe, haven’t heard from you. You mad at me?”

“Babe?”

Great, now they’re mad at me. The truth is, I’m not in the mood to hit the hay just yet. Or wash my face…or pop in that clear retainer. I just want to watch mindless TV and eat peanut butter from the jar. There’s something about munching away, watching TV late at night, cozy in the arms of my couch. This sounds naughty, but I’ve kind of got a thing for my sectional. Maybe it’s those big broad arms, that are soft in all the right spots. Don’t tell my bed, but the other night we were having some wine and eating popcorn and the sectional couldn’t keep their throw pillows off me. I mean, I stopped it before anything serious happened, but I have had this insane amount of guilt hanging on me like an albatross.

I tried to tiptoe into bed holding my shoes, carefully trying not to wake up my bed. Too late. “Did you just get home?” I tried to play it off like it was just about the TV, but my bed was hurt. “Oh, you were with them.” Sleep is our thing, the bed says. I’m defensive and even a bit curt.

They say I don’t show them off anymore. They have a point. The other day, Karin came over and she complimented me on my beautiful leather couch. I was going to show off my bed too, but the bed wasn’t made up and looked a bit messy. I did keep the bedroom door closed.

Don’t get your quilt in a bunch. The bed starts accusing me of some sordid affair and has the nerve to call me a bedswerver! With all of this bed skirting around the issues, you’d think they were some type of queen. I’ve got news for you, that bed is only a full. They’d kill me for saying this, but it’s true! If the sheets fit, wear them.

Image: iStockPhoto

Tricia D'Onofrio
Tricia D'Onofrio is a comedian and writer from Connecticut, but not the tennis part. She has determined that 2020 will be her year, despite all signs pointing to the opposite. She always believed herself to be a unique individual, but it turns out she's just a textbook Sagittarius.