My Bed

A while ago, Soeur asked if her boyfriend's childhood pal and his girlfriend could spend a weekend on our couch.  They only needed a place to shower and sleep since they'd be busy touring the city.  Our couch pulls out into a double bed so, sure, I had no problem with that.  But three nights, two days, luggage for two, five adults, an apartment barely six hundred square feet, one bathroom.  Hmm.  It was bad enough waiting for Soeur to shower on some mornings.  And then sometimes her boyfriend.  How would I manage two more?  I quickly realized that something, or someone, had to give.  I went about making plans to go out of town that weekend.  I could see my friends, this couple could use my room, and everybody would be happy.

I soon learned that on the very first day they were to arrive in the city, the guy was scheduled to propose to his girlfriend in Central Park.  It would be a whole romantic thing.  That evening would be their first night together in New York, their first night together as an engaged couple, their first night of the rest of their lives together.  Which they would be spending in my bedroom.  Together.  On my bed.

Erm.  A couple things here:

1) If I get engaged while on vacation, I would want my first night with my husband-to-be behind closed doors in the privacy of my very own space, not trapped inside the closet-sized bedroom of my childhood buddy's girlfriend's sister.  And also not with said childhood buddy and girlfriend in the same apartment.

2) If there is any fun of the frisky variety to be had in Julia's bed, half of that fun should be had by Julia.  It's only fair.

And so the original plans for lodging chez Julia were scratched.  As I'm hitting this publish button at 7:54 pm this Friday evening, instead of traveling to see friends outside of the city, I am here at home about to step out, and the visiting couple is having a nice couples dinner at Gramercy Tavern (or was it Eleven Madison?  It's hard to keep track.) with friends.  Most importantly, at the end of the night, they will retire to their very own hotel room where they may do as they please.  In private quarters.

So let's get this straight - if I ever offer that you spend the night in my room, you are never to have sex in it.  Ever.  At least not without me.  And if you do, you better hope I never find out because I will not be able to hold a conversation with you again knowing that my mattress lay witness to something that it never asked to be a part of.