The bunk bed
I had a bunk bed once and, being the oldest sister, I had the top bunk. This was my private hideaway where I would spend many happy hours reading and writing in my angst-ridden journals, but the bunk bed was not always a good thing. Eventually, you will fall off. The night that my body chose to roll off the bed, sending me toppling onto the floor (I awoke mid-air, a strange sensation), was the night that we had parked three bicycles underneath the bed because vandals had been cruising the neighborhood ripping off bikes. When I fell, of course, the skin was ripped off my back but there was surprisingly little blood! It knocked the wind out of me and frightened me quite a bit but the injury was by far the easiest part of the whole thing. Since we came from a poor household, my mother assumed that people would think I was badly abused, so during the last two months of school, the hottest school days of the year, I was forced to wear big, heavy sweatshirts in order to cover up the wound, which was a mass of bruises and cuts and welts.
(BrainSurgerysFun, Mon 11 Aug 2008, 21:44, Reply)