When you're five, bunk beds are awesome. They pretty much guarantee you a spot at the cool-kid table. And they're a status symbol - especially if you're on the top bunk. Even at ten, at fourteen a bunk-bed is the coolest bed (short of a hammock or living with wolves) you could ever hope for.
At 23, not so much.
For one thing, the bunk bed that's been around since you were a kid has gotten creaky. So when you come home at 2am after a night out it's impossible to quietly drift off - you wake up the other person in the bunk bed: your 21-year-old sister, who happens to have the bottom bunk.
And it's not ideal to bring friends home... or a man friend...
("Want to come back to my place? I have a really sweet bunk bed...")
And sometimes you have to deal with ladder malfunctions. (coming up next)
So I live in a bunk bed. I could move out. I could get a normal grown-up person apartment... but........
