Are you familiar with the California King? It is a bed that is more or less the size of Rhode Island. Hence, it is called the California King.
Are you familiar with the term more or less? It is a term that is more or less completely useless. It tells us nothing.
"Did we just win one million dollars?"
"More or less."
"THAT IS AWESOME!!!! I QUIT!!! ALL YOU IDIOTS CAN DIE FOR ALL I CARE!!!"
"Shhh. Less, definitely less. Nothing, actually."
"Why would you say we won a million dollars then?"
"Well, technically, I said more or less."
Anyway, so the Cal King. It is massive. When Wendy And I married, her aunt worked at a mattress factory. She hooked us up with a $3000 mattress for like a nickel, more or less.
We took delivery of the bed. It took about sixteen of us to get the bed off the truck. We folded it in quarters to get it through the double doors. We turned, twisted and cajoled it to get it up and around the stairs. We cut it into cubes to get it through the room's door and then stitched it back together.
More or less.
The previously immense room, had about a six inch perimeter of space around the bed. We would start laying down in the hallway it was so huge.
I thought, This is ridiculous. This bed is bigger than any bed has any right to be. But, It is so marshmallowy and huge and, well, amazing. Pure Luxury.
Or so I thought. Do you know Wendy? Have you met her? You really should. She is the sweetest cutest cuddliest nicest most peaceful person you will ever meet. Guaranteed. Or I will take that sentence right back.
That night, we snuggled in the vastness. I kissed Wendy, my dear sweet, peaceful wife goodnight, and drifted off to sleep.
I was awoken with the best uppercut I have ever had the privilege of receiving.
At first, I grabbed for the bat hidden under the bed. I realized, of course, that by the time I crawled all the way across the bed to get the bat, minutes would have passed, more or less, and whatever attack I was under would already have run its course.
I then realized that I am not the type of person to have a bat under the bed. I was sleepy. And dizzy from the punch. Then, I made the most horrifying discovery of all.
Wendy struck me with her elbow.
You see, what Wendy had not disclosed before marriage was that she is a sleep brawler. Now I am not saying that I would not have married her if she had disclosed it… (Do you play this game? If I had no legs, would you have married me? Wendy likes to play it with me. I have four sisters. I know how to play these games. Of, course dear, I would have only loved you more.)
The Cal King quickly converted from luxury to necessity. I would go to bed close and then slowly back away. Sometimes the wind from one of her blows would wake me, but I avoided the brunt.
This year, we have been on the road for all but two weeks. I tried my best to convince Wendy that we could just tie the bed to the top of the Prius. Sure, we might have to take some side roads, but the peace of mind would more than make up for it.
She was not having it. So it was left home. We entered a bleak Cal Kingless world.
Camping is not a problem. We both sleep in mummy bags. I sometimes hear her flailing in the darkness, but I only smile as I fall back asleep, content in the mummy bag cocoon.
The beds in hotels though have been more, uh, problematic. They have gotten progressively smaller. To the point that we slept in a double last week. A DOUBLE. Now, this bed is more or less the size of a matchbox. Now, Wendy will say that she is a recovering bed brawler. And I have to agree.
But last week, when I was awoken by an expertly placed elbow to the dead center of my forehead, I remembered fondly that first violent night. More or less.
BLUE LILY | Lifestyle Photographer | Salt Lake City, Utah