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Ode to our king bed

(With apologies to the Febreeze commercial)

I love you, king-sized bed.

You're breadth gives me the space I need to spread out.

But sometimes, I don't have you …

We have spent the past four nights in a bed that could charitably be considered less than double, more than twin. Yet, we are used to aforementioned king-sized bed, and it's been rough.

Some of you may recall the history of our king bed. We bought it very shortly before Pete got ill and spent many months in Penn State Milton S. Hershey Medical Center. All those months, I slept there alone. Even after he came home I slept there alone for awhile, and it was a banner day in the Gigliotti household when he moved – finally – “back in” to our king-sized bed.

Since then, about May of 2015, we have only missed nights in our bed when we've been traveling. Most of our travel experiences have been in queen sized beds or larger, our preference now.

Until this trip.

Previously, our biggest nighttime struggle was to find each other on our football-field-sized mattress.

Until this trip.

Now it's a struggle to find room for all those legs, feet and arms. We slept in a double bed for nearly 36 years of our marriage: however did we manage? I keep hitting the bedside table (to be fair, it's so close to my side of the bed it's nearly touching, which, I suppose, makes it part of the bed). We roll, and it's best if we both do it together, like hot dogs on a grill.

And I have totally discounted the amount of leg room I have when I swing my legs over the edge of the king-sized bed … at most, I have a dog on the rug underneath to contend with, but there are still a good five feet or so to the nearest wall.

Until this trip.

Here I have less than the length of my foot (ok – I have big feet, but it's seriously about six inches) between the bed and our suitcase, which has to be there, as it's the largest space in the room that isn't already taken with our two other suitcases. This makes midnight trips to the loo (I'm becoming British already, lol) interesting – a little like a sleepy obstacle course.

Now to be fair, the bed is quite comfortable; it's the room whose tininess affects the whole affair.

And to be fair, although I consider myself an experienced traveller, I am the one who booked us into this smallest of all hotel rooms.

The hotel itself is wonderful – the full English breakfast (eggs, sausage, English bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes, toast) is fantastic. It's exceptionally clean, and the location is possibly the best we've ever had in London. We've stayed all over the five boroughs here, and this is the most convenient by far – close to four or five tube stations, with busses passing every other minute, and at least four or five grocery stores and six or seven coffee shops within five minutes walking. There's even a Waterstone's – a lovely U.K. bookstore, in which I'm writing this blog. It's really exceptional. And I suspect, when I listened to my friend who recommended this hotel, that's all I was thinking.

Location, location, location.

Yes, but.

To be fair, the hotel itself did everything they could to convince me of the size of the room beforehand, but I was oblivious. All I saw was that this highly rated hotel in a sought-after area had a room, when my friend had been telling me how difficult it was to find rooms there. I was much more worried about the amenities of the hotel – cleanliness, breakfast, location – than of the room.

It's a mistake I won't make again.

So I've learned. Every night renews my determination to remember this lesson, and every day we are determined to find a way to make lemonade out of these lemons. We've found ways to extend the space in the room and other places to spend our time. Fortunately, because of the target-rich location, there are lots of coffee shops around – with plenty of space.

Our last night to a queen bed!

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