What Sleeping In Mischa’s Bed Taught Me About Life

Thanks, Mischa.

Photo from Unsplash.

Let me tell you about the most phenomenal bed I’ve ever slept in. And let me tell you about it from a place of privilege. You see, my grandparents are avid travelers, and I’ve slept in many a nice bed before, in plenty of nice hotels with crisp white sheets, down comforters and pillows, and views of the beach or the city skyline. Now my personal bed — not nearly as nice. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great mattress. But I’ve had it for twelve very long years, and can’t seem to give it up because I inherited it from my beloved Great Nana, who actually died in it. It’s sagging in the middle. It definitely has coffee stains deeply ingrained into the core of it because yes, I drink coffee in bed. And most of the time there is at least one dog hair that no lint-roller could pick up. My mattres has been through hell, but it connects me to my Great Nana, and so I can’t get rid of it, even after everyone who has ever spent the night has relentlessly complained the next morning about hip aches or joint pain.

Enter Mischa’s bed. Sometime in January, I came to the conclusion that my oldest brother actually is a pretty cool kid, and since then, I’ve been spending at least one or two weekends with him and his friends in San Luis Obipso. It is now June, and most months since January, I’ve spent between five and ten days of…