I have to get this off my chest, you guys. I had an affair, and I think I might be in love. Mr. Waffle knows, and he's actually being really supportive. I just worry that I'm becoming obsessed.
It all started this weekend. We'd decided to get away from the snow and the cold and see the ocean. We flew out east and drove to Hilton Head. I've been very stressed lately, and paid no attention to what Mr. Waffle had planned, so I had no idea where we were going. He'd gotten a sweet deal on a night at a four-star resort, and that's where it happened.
I'd gotten sick at the airport, thanks to the flying petri dishes that are airplanes, so I was still feeling ill when we pulled into the resort. All I wanted to do was fall asleep. We checked in, walked on the beach waiting for our room to be ready, and then headed up.
And there it was. I mean, it looked like any other hotel bed, but a bit nicer. I didn't care at that moment if it was made of rocks, I just wanted to sleep. But it wasn't, you guys. It wasn't. It was made of marshmallows and hypoallergenic feathers and wishes and dreams. The moment I slipped in between the sheets I knew, I KNEW it was the bed for me, and no other bed would ever be good enough again.
I slept for three hours in a low-grade fever dream, waking only to yell "Diet Coke!" long after Mr. Waffle had asked if I wanted anything and already left the room. Beddy cuddled and cradled me back to sleep. It surrounded my body with supportive softness and warmth, offsetting the chills I'd been having since horking my guts up at the airport just hours before.
Mr. Waffle roused me and pulled me from Beddy's grasp just long enough to hit up a barbecue joint where the waitress didn't understand the concept of a split plate, and thus served us twice the amount of food we ordered, which Mr. Waffle ate most of. I didn't want food. I wanted Beddy. I wanted Beddy's warmth and fluff and comfort.
I slept solidly that night and woke up refreshed and happy. We woke up to watch the sunrise on the beach and had a lovely breakfast of crab benedict and a gorgeous bowl of fruit. We headed back to the room to pack, and I snuck in one last cuddle with Beddy. We lamented the fact that we should have just flown into the closer airport and stayed there, but we hadn't known the delight that waited for us there.
As I crawled into bed the next night in a harder, less luxurious, inferior bed that night, my mind went back to the memory of Beddy, the bed that had rocked my world. Even now, at home in my own bed, I weep for the sensation of a bed that would cradle my backside, while supporting my spine, in perfect harmony. I fear I'll never have a night of sleep like I had with Beddy.
I love you, Beddy. I'll never forget you.