Built to Last

When Sex Tests the Limits of our Home Furniture

It was a Saturday morning like any other at my house. I woke a little later than my alarm suggested, brewed a little more coffee than I would on a weekday and started stripping the sheets off my bed while listening to my friend D.J. on KUTX.  As the hours went by, I went from room to room doing chores, cycling laundry and pausing to look at my phone.

I grabbed my warm sheets from the dryer and carried them upstairs to my room. I pulled the fitted sheet from the bundle and started to wrap it over the top right corner of my bed when a memory from the night before surfaced. How had I forgotten. 

My headboard. I was having sex and it squeaked. Or Eeked. 

Whatever it was, it was the first time this specific bed frame had communicated back to me. How long had I had it? A year? Slightly more?

With one leg on the floor and a knee to my bed, I held my sheet in my arms and started to replay, to the best of my ability, what had happened. 

What exactly were we doing?