Let me share a quick story with you:
It’s kind of embarrassing but, hey, embarrassing experiences make the best stories. I’ve already told you that I studied in the UK. That was almost a decade ago. God, I’m getting old.
Anyway, even though I’ve told you that I studied in the UK, I’m pretty sure that I haven’t told you anything about my bed. And no, this won’t be an article in which I will brag that I slept with X number of women in this bed (even though I can think of a few memorable experiences).
Instead, I want to tell you how this bed almost killed me. But not just me. The girl I—let’s call it exercised—with on my bed almost died of a heart attack.
The time I had to live with a bed that was harder than a rock
I was a broke student at a big university in London.
I won’t reveal the name because they might not be so happy about the fact that I became a dating coach instead of a reputable manager in a medium-sized corporation.
I really loved my time at the university. The only thing I didn’t love was my bed. Even though my dorm room was so tiny that I couldn’t even walk more than two steps in it, it was okay. I mean, you could live in it, and it was definitely better than some of the apartments you can rent elsewhere.
But my bed was hard like a rock. Sometimes, I dreamed at night that I would sleep on a comfortable and soft bed. Then in the morning, I woke up with back pain and with the thought, “Ah crap, I’m still stuck with this terribly uncomfortable bed.”
However, it turned out that the bed was not only very uncomfortable—it was also dangerous. I initially assumed that being rock-hard and more uncomfortable than lying on nails were the only two qualities of the “bed” in my dorm room. In fact, my back still refuses to call this thing a bed.
But the fact that the feathers were harder than stone wasn’t the biggest problem. My first date with this really cute British girl made me realize that my bed was less stable than Lindsey Lohan’s emotions.
Have a look at what happened on this one cold day in April in my tiny dorm room, with my even tinier bed…
The day my rock-hard bed said goodbye forever
Now that I think about it, the fact that my bed was hard was not the only problem. It was also so tiny that I couldn’t sleep on it without my feet dangling in the air. And the girl who decided to come back to my dorm room after a fun afternoon of talking and joking around wasn’t particularly short either.
With high heels, she was almost as tall as me, and that was a big problem. It all started with innocent kisses on the bed, which then transitioned to not so innocent things. I had almost undressed her when it happened.
I shouldn’t have thrown her on the bed. I shouldn’t have done it. But I did, and the result was a loud “craaaack” and “whoooom”. I had never seen a girl that shocked in my bed—which is a good sign, I guess.
The bed broke down and she looked at me as if she had witnessed a nuclear explosion. I just laughed uncontrollably. Unfortunately, my laughter stopped when I realized that I, as a broke university student, had to pay for a new bed.
The moral of the story:
It doesn’t matter how good your dating skills are. If you have a shitty bed, you will fail.
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