When we first got married, way back in ye’ old days of six months ago, we had to decide which side of the bed to sleep on. We both knew our parents had very specified sides of the bed, and it never changed, so we were well aware that
1) This was in fact a life-changing decision with far-reaching consequences destined to last us all the way to the nursing home with canes and walkers and those triangle bar thingies to help you get out of bed (which, don’t get me wrong, there are some mornings when I would really really really like to have one of those)
2) This was definitely one of those legitimate-married-people things that we’d always associated with grown-up mature types, and to be faced with the chance to have one of those was thrilling, to say the least.
3) Holy cow, we were going to be sleeping in the same bed! WEIRD
On our honeymoon, we decided to forgo the decision until we got home for the first time, so the side-choosing was haphazard at best. Then, our first night in our new apartment, there were big decisions to be made. I flopped down on the left, Mr. Barefoot on the right, and surveyed the view. We switched and evaluated. Quite honestly, we couldn’t tell the difference, but were nonetheless aware that this was an important decision that should not be taken lightly. In light of that view, I decided that the left side was going to be my side, and that was that. However, as soon as I made my decision, my choice was challenged, as Mr. Barefoot decided that since I found the left side so desirable, there must be something about it, and immediately declared the left side his. Naturally, the contrarian in me jumped forth with “Nuh-uh!! It was mine first!” A battle royale ensued, the only solution to which was determined by who crawled in bed first each night, the victor claiming his/her left side. Eventually, persistence won out. It was not unusual for me to be finishing brushing my teeth, only to find Mr. Barefoot permanently ensconcing himself in the spoils of his win, replete in his victory of the left side.
I’ve resigned myself to the right. We get along fairly well, and I do have better access to the closet. However, every now and then I gaze forlornly over at the left, taunting me with its view of the door and proximity to the bookshelf. And when Mr. Barefoot is gone, you better believe I’m over on that side, relishing my freedom!
How did you pick sides?