Rancho San Diego My scofflaws,
Today, a friend and I disassembled the hefty wooden bed that’s been my nocturnal cabin for a decade and a half. The reason?
Your stumpy legs, Charlie.
Don’t get me wrong; I love your low-rider suspension — in no small part because your six-inch legs don’t impair your hops at all. You can outleap Jadie.
But you bound so eagerly from the bed’s waist-high precipice, clatter so loudly on impact, I just know you’re gonna break a bone on a cold, old morning. Then again, perhaps your old man is taking about himself again.
Regardless, what’s done is done. The guest bedroom is gonna have a killer setup once I find a mattress, box spring, and sucker to drive us. You know anyone?
In the meantime, get used to fewer nighttime acrobatics. You’ll thank me in the long run. Besides, I’M the one sleeping on the floor. That’s your normal bed.
Anyway, like I said, I hope you’re happy. Honestly, I’m kinda am.
