Me and my sister used to share a room when we were younger (and by younger I mean I only got my own room a couple of years ago).
Sharing a room with my sister was ... awful. Just plain awful! If you picture the two messiest kids alive in a room that literally had clothes and garbage and, quite possibly dead pets, up to the knees you're picturing our room.
I recall at one point when we were in grade 2 and 4 (or something like that) we even shared a queen sized bed because our room was so small there wasn't any room for two beds. However, that didn't last long after our nightly punching fights and screaming cover-hog accusations. Most nights ended with a loud 'M-o-o-o-m!' at one in the morning with my mother stumbling in the room, half-asleep, telling us to shut-up.
In retrospect, I would like to know what my mother was smoking at the time. With me and my sister, there was no possible way that that arrangement was going to work out.
My mother, after losing too many nights of her beauty sleep, quickly came up with the solution to this problem: bunk-beds. After a few more weeks of unbearable cat fights with the end result being one of us two stealing the blankets and going to sleep in the closet, the day where we got our glorious bunk-beds finally arrived!
I swear, I think when the beds were first set up, the sky parted and warm sunlight poured down on our room with angels singing Hallelujah!
All our problems were solved! My and my sister each had our own bed and my mother would be able to get a good night's sleep.
Or so we thought: but that wasn't really the case at all.
I should tell you right now that the bunk beds that we had gotten weren't your usual bunk beds, but rather, the bed on the bottom had a queen sized mattress and the bed on the top was a twin. Naturally this in itself caused a fight between me and my sister: we both wanted the bottom bed.
In the end, after much conflict, my mother ended up deciding that every other week we were at her house we would have to switch beds in order to be fair.
I didn't, still don't, and most likely never will get along with my brother or my sister - it's just one of the natural laws of this world. Even as a child I disliked them immensely. My mother tells me stories of how, when she brought them both home, I didn't even acknowledge them for about a year. Cheebert/Steve and Gramma, their nick-names in our family, get along great and everything is fine and dandy. Me and them on the other hand go together about as well as cheese and pinecones do - I don't know if there is anything more catastrophic then eating cheese on pinecones (and I do speak from experience).
Honestly, I don't know how my mother has managed to prevent WW3 from erupting in our house - it is truly an impressive feat.
Anyway, getting back to the story: we both wanted the bottom bed and it was decided that we would have to share it.
One would think that we wanted the bottom bed for the reason that it was bigger, more comfortable and had more space. I'm 99.234% positive that was my sister's reasoning, however, it was certainly not mine.
I've always preferred having a twin bed to a larger one, I just find it more comfortable for some reason. The reason I wanted the bottom bed was because of the dinosaurs.
Yes, you read that right, because of the dinosaurs.
Around this time, and please keep in mind that I was a young'un, I had watched Jurassic Park. Being the hyperactive child with the overactive imagination I had, at that time in my life, convinced myself that dinosaurs were real: they were just simply hiding, and one night, when everyone was sleeping, they would come out and rule the earth once again.
I know it sounds ridiculous now, but it is truly what I believed back then.
So why did I want the bottom bunk?
Simple, I thought that if a dinosaur ever came to where I live and ripped the roof off my house, because my sister was on the top bunk, he would see her first and inevitably eat her first. Because I was on the bottom bunk, I would be safe because dinosaur would have been full from my sister and wouldn't have been able to see me, since I would be hidden.
Hey, it may sound ridiculous, but logically, it makes sense!
For this very reason I had the worst time sleeping on the top bunk: I feared that the dinosaurs would come and eat me. And, I really didn't want to be eaten by dinosaur - although, while it would be painful, it would be an epic way to go.
While this may sound absurd to think about, and even mean, I couldn't help it: it was the way I was as a child (and semi the way I am now :P). Better my sister to be eaten than me!
I would like to say that I've matured and made great strides in combatting this unusal fear. However, that is not the case. Even today if I have a choice between the top and bottom bunk, I scramble, bite, claw, scratch, chew and dive to the bottom one, while secretly thinking to myself, 'I'm glad I'm not the sucker on the top bunk that will get eaten'.
Because let's face it, it's better to be safe than sorry.
Rawr! ;)
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