At Least I Don’t Snore

There was potential for the trip to be awkward, you see.

I mean, there we were, a separated couple, going on a trip to Walt Disney World with another couple.

A happily married couple, it would appear.

It was probably a blessing that we had scheduled a trip to the happiest place on earth.

Rather than Egypt or Brigham Young University, for example.

And we were super glad that we had booked a four bedroom condo.  I mean, sure, there were four adults and four kids.  But I didn’t mind bunking with the girls.  Sydney and I could have easily shared a queen bed while Katelyn slept in the other one.  The girls would hardly have noticed when I crept into the bed in the middle of the night after they giggled themselves to sleep.

Yeah.

Until we arrived and realized that instead of two kings and four queen beds, it had two kings and four twin-sized beds.

Um, Sydney and I were not going to fit into a twin-sized bed for four nights.  While Drew lounged in the king in the master bedroom and swam around in the whirlpool tub, I might add.

And I was not going to tarnish our trip to the happiest place on earth by telling the four very excited children that they would not be fulfilling their dreams of establishing boy and girl clubhouses in their respective bedrooms.  I mean, it’s not fun sleeping with your estranged parents when you have BFF’s to keep awake.

So, like any good parents, we put Katelyn and Sydney in a king and Drew and I slept in twin beds, in the same room, reminiscent of sitcoms from the 1960s.

It was like camp, but without the underage sex.  It was like a seventh grade sleepover, but without the gossip and French braided hair.  It was like my friend’s wedding night, but without the excessive intoxication and subsequent (cough) under performance.

Nope.  Not awkward at all.