Condo Living: I Think I'm Getting the Hang of It

Got a new bed delivered to our newly acquired abode and it's, oh, so nice. It's the perfect combination of firm and fluffy and the new sheets are crisp but cozy. There's just one teeny weeny problem: It's just not teeny weeny.

This condo was not built with king-sized mattresses in mind. I wasn't sure it was going to make it to the second floor.

The eye of a needle?

Not to mention the third where the bedroom is.

When it was finally placed on it's final - ahem - resting place, we were faced with another itsy bitsy curiosity: We would need a ladder to climb up into it.

The mattress is 16 inches thick. The box springs are another five inches. The bed frame we ordered is additional 12. What's the math on that? Like, three feet?

The condo was mostly furnished when we moved in and now we know why. This bed will never leave this address.

The view of Mt. Hood from an eastern window inspires me: I'll just decorate around it.

Imagine: The trek begins at ground level. You make camp one the first floor to acclimate. You continue on with a hired Sherpa only to pass discarded oxygen tanks as you reach the third floor landing. From here, you can see the peak thrown into sharp relief beneath the ceiling fan.

All that's left is the final ascent. The Sherpa will go no farther until additional supplies are dropped by any number of planes flying out of PDX, the drone of which now a welcoming sound. Until, finally, you traverse an ice ladder to what awaits: slumber. Sweet, sweet slumber.

Next, I'm thinking about installing a slide so I can get out of the damn thing. And if I do it right, it'll deliver me directly to the coffee maker.