(It could all be so simple if only we didn’t have to decide who keeps the bed.)
And now we’re fighting over this article of domesticity. You’re pulling the sheets in one direction and I’m dragging the duvet. This is 13.5 tog you know, it wasn’t cheap – feathers cost money. And you’re hugging the mattress, moulding your body into the imprint you’ve created over years of sleep. This is my bed. This is my bed. This is our bed. I won’t let her take it. I won’t let him keep it.
It’s not just a bed.