A day bed in the living room spells failure

I put a daybed (Hawaiian: punee) in the living room. My husband thinks it’s awful.

He protested the idea. I pulled the Wife Card.

By daybed, I mean twin bed from one of the guest rooms. No pretty frame around it to make it appear like furniture for awake people.

So basically, it’s a bed, but saying “daybed” makes it exotic sounding. I can dress it up with words.

At first, I attempted to conform to some kind of interior decoration aspiration by putting a king size, solid colored sheet over the whole thing. It looked like a big blue ottoman.

Over time, though, it gradually started looking more like what it is: a bed. It’s tucked in the back corner of the living room so it’s not in the “main” sitting area. That makes it better?

One night, I had insomnia, so I ended up skulking around the living room for hours and then I slept on the bed. Now it has a big blanket on it.

I’m going for total comfort. I don’t care what our occasional guests think.

The people who come are our friends, anyway. We don’t host business functions.

Here’s what I like about it:

It’s where Olivia and I lie down to watch Netflix.

For slumber parties, the kids sleep in the living room. This comes in handy.

The bed is high – taller than any other bed or sofa we have. It meets Claus’ hand height, so he doesn’t have to bend over much to massage me. Really, I am just thinking about him.

There are two sofas plus this punee in the living room, so each of our family members can have a horizontal space. Otherwise, I would end up cramped on sofa with someone.

When my family has friends over, I can lie there and be semi-social yet blissfully horizontal (if they aren’t already; see photo.)

I’ve owned real daybeds and futon sofas before, and I prefer a bed. I don’t like hitting my limbs on the wood or metal backboards that usually frame two of the mattress sides, and I find them less springy.

Here’s what I regret:

It’s not so much that having a full on bed in the living room looks rather, uh, ghetto. It’s that it means I’ve given up. It’s the house version of a person who stops brushing their hair and putting on matching clothes before leaving the house.

I complete relinquish any effort to make the pages of House Beautiful. I try to keep the house tidy and I often fail. I used to try to make the house socially acceptable (to adults) and I’m tired of trying.

What comes next? Elastic waistbands? No-wrinkle polyester?

Oh well. (Olivia and) I like it and that’s that. We can always move it out when we’re tired of it. Maybe I’ll just lie down on that punee and mull it over.