In a story out of San Jose, CA, your bed is unsure how much longer it can continue acting as your entire workstation, dining table, and home movie theater.
“I typically just end up working in bed because it’s more comfortable,” you say. “Then I end up eating lunch in bed because I’m already working there, then once work is over I’m kind of ready to unwind, which for me is watching hours of TV in bed.”
Your bed, which seems to act as your own personal yacht that you can’t get off of without threat of drowning, is wearing thin from this relentless overuse.
“I guess that means I spend upwards of 12 hours a day in my bed. Huh,” you say, oblivious to the fact that your bed is desperate for any alone time whatsoever.
While your bed creaks every time you budge to send you a message, you continue typing away in the same position you woke up in for a disturbing number of hours straight.
“I think I’ll go to the park for the day, in order to simply lay on a different surface for so long people start to wonder if I have bones,” you finally suggest, giving your bed the first chance it’s had to not bear your whole weight this entire quarantine.
Sources confirm that even though you’re out of the apartment for the day, your bed is one calendar day away from collapsing entirely just to spite you.
