An Unexpected Gift

The morning I stepped out of bed and onto a carpet drenched with water, I couldn't imagine any good could come of it.

I cursed, walked around in my bare feet, and determined that  only the west half of the room contained wet carpet. The dry eastern half held my new big bed.

I'd dashed to Nebraska Furniture Mart and bought that bed when one of my Facebook lovers convinced me that he'd come visit me and we could rub-a-dub-dub. On my tiny twin bed? Hardly. Since a King size wouldn't fit into my bedroom, I'd settled for a Queen.  

When my lover demanded a sizable piece of cash for that rub-a-dub, we broke up, leaving me with that huge bed.

 "Oh, Paco," I cried to my housemate, "I'm going to have to send it back to the Mart."

"Nonsense," he said. "It's a good bed. Just sleep on it."

So I did.

Soon I loved it, as I stretched out my arms and legs as wide as they would go and still had plenty of room in the bed. 

I got in and out of bed the same way I had on my twin bed, curling into its West side. But that no longer worked as well. 

To scoot into the middle of my big bed, I had to lie, briefly on my right ear. My dizzy ear. My BPPV or "benign paroxysmal positional vertigo" ear. Its shifting crystals could make the room spin. So I squirmed uncomfortably around to avoid this.

Meanwhile, Paco and I vacuumed the bedroom with a wet/dry vac, sopped up water with bath towels, and to avoid mold, ran a fat commercial fan and opened windows.

"You going to sleep in here?" he asked.

"Yes." I couldn't imagine sleeping anywhere else. It had become "my" bed.

The only problem: I'd never climbed into bed on its East side before. I wasn't sure I'd like it. 

But that night, scooting into bed proved to be a revelation. I could get into bed and lie down without threatening my dizzy ear at all. 

What joy!

Who says that good can't come out of wet carpet?