It’s your first visit to your daughter’s new house with her new husband and no dad could be happier than you. They take you from room to room. The living room, the kitchen, the spare room that they say with a giggle will one day be a nursery. Then they show you their bedroom.
“Thought the other room was going to be the nursery,” you say.
They both nod. That’s right.
“So what’s with the bunk beds?” you ask.
They look thrown. “You mean our sleep tower?” your son-in-law says.
You look at the bunk beds again.
“Sleep tower?” you repeat. “What the hell are you kids into?”
Your daughter laughs. “I get the top. Jarrett likes the bottom.”
“My knees,” your son-in-law explains.
You walk out of the bedroom, shaken to your core, and you sit down to a long, polite, silent dinner.
After, your daughter follows you out to your car.
“Jesus, honey,” you say. “What the hell is that all about?”
She nods sadly. “I know how it looks, Daddy,” she says. “It’s just what he prefers.”
You shake your head. “What about what you prefer?”
Tears form in her eyes. “You don’t think there’s anything wrong with his knees either, do you? He says when they’re better I can have the bottom, but he’s lying isn’t he? I want the bottom, Daddy! I was supposed to marry someone who’d treat me like a princess and let me have whichever bunk I wanted! But he’s just another liar out to get whatever he wants!”
She cries into your chest. You pat the back of her head, coming to grips with the knowledge that your daughter is a grown woman who digs bunk beds. You conclude that you were a not-very-good father, and you vow to visit your daughter’s home as infrequently as possible.
Happy Bunkbeds Day!
