This weekend, I got a little closer to adulthood.
You see, a while back, I wrote this post about being 23 and sleeping in a twin bed.
It wasn’t that big of a deal … but it was THAT BIG OF A DEAL.
I’m now 24 and the proud owner of a queen-sized bed, a generous donation from a coworker and his wife.
They needed the barely used item — my new favorite piece of furniture – to make a swift exodus from their guestroom.
So, I eagerly obliged.
But getting this bad boy into the Boyer Bachelorette Bungalow was no easy task.
My house is three floors of pure awkwardness and alcoves that make no sense at all.
And I love it. Except this Sunday, as Operation Big Girl Bed was underway.
But my big girl bed encountered one big problem: the rickety wooden spiral staircase between my living room and third floor bedroom needed to be partially disassembled (and re-assembled better than it was put together in the first place, thank you very much) to accommodate the box spring.
(I stood back and let someone else perform this ridiculous task. I don’t do well with tools.)
An hour later, I declared Operation Big Girl Bed
a success — minus a few splinters.
And it was worth it.
So worth it.