Why Am I Always Late To Work?

This is why.

This is the new King Size bed that was delivered by two men a few weeks ago.

The sheets are 470 thread-count Egyptian Cotton. All six pillows are there for the using - No decorative pillows for us; We are serious sleepers. The bed itself is deliriously soft, with a six inch pillow topping on the firm mattress. It's like sleeping on a cloud, but with support.

The frame, box springs, mattress and bedding take up roughly, oh, half of the room. It's so big, my six-foot-four boyfriend can stretch out his arms AND his legs and not have one digit hanging off. It's high, too. We had to elevate the TV so that it could still be seen from both sides of the bed. The old bed was much, much lower, hence the hanging artwork directly above our pillows. I'm constantly banging my head into the frame, threatening to knock Billy's painting right off the wall. I worry about how much trouble I'd be in if I actually knocked it off the wall and it fell, say, on top of my head, in the style of some played physical comedy sketch where the canvas tears around my scalp and I wind up wearing the painting and the frame as one big, obtrusive necklace. Billy painted that years ago, and, needless to say, it's a one-of-a-kind. I don't think I could "Whoops!" my way out of that one. And there's very little room to walk around the mammoth yet luxurious Kingsdown bed, causing a massive reduction in floor space, which results in the room looking ten times messier than it should with only a few items miscellaneous items on the floor.

But it is so worth it. Last night, I fell asleep watching TV, on my back (I'm a stomach-sleeper) and with full makeup on. And I woke up in exactly the same position with the TV still on. Billy turned it off in the wee hours of this morning, since he didn't have to get up for work for another two hours, and said "I can't believe we fell asleep with the TV on again." It was the third night - in a row - that we awoke having not moved a muscle, with the Olympics still on from the night before. "It's the bed's fault," I said. And I rolled over to go back to sleep, but was careful not to smush yesterday's mascara into the pillowcase.

Making that bed, however, has become a task of epic proportions. What once took me all of two and half minutes, now involves many trips from one side of the bed to the other, tucking and pulling and even-ing out the sides. And then we get into it and it's a mess in just under a minute.

But it's such a treat to sleep in that thing. Sometimes I actually look forward to laying down in it. And getting up in the morning has become a near impossibility.

So when my boss (who did, by the way, call before I made it into work yesterday, and made a point of saying "I called at ten after eight and no one was here." I got busted.) gives me the rats for being late all the time, I'm going to blame it on the bed.