For some reason known only to the gods my wife assured me that a super king size bed with the approximate dimensions of Greater London was the only one for us. In fact it's so big, or the room so small, that we have to sidle around it in order to get on board, and should the notion occur to either of us we'd need to take sandwiches for the epic journey across to each other's side. Even my supposedly fab iphone can't get all of it in shot so there's at least another fifty I can't photograph.
So, as to the question and the conclusion. Why, oh why is it necessary to cover it with 8800000000 pillows weighing approximately half a ton every single morning, just so they can be taken off again every single evening? My friend reckons it's just a "woman thing," but when I ask her what a woman thing is she just looks pityingly at me and sighs with sad melancholy. Constant misunderstandings aside, even if I wasn't working hard enough as it is, by the time we've put them back on the floor, all in the correct order, and "Don't you dare throw them!!" I'm so exhausted I can barely find the energy to climb up it's cliff-like sides. If we ever have a fire we'll both be incinerated.
Apparently I'll never understand because I'm only a man.
I'm often tempted to "forget" to close the door so the cats can romp about for a while, then they'll all have to be thrown out. Oh happy day.