My bedroom has seen a lot, folks. Take that how you like, but I am referring to decorating styles. It's first days featured a large brass bed handed down to us by my parents. It was exactly like the bed Bob Dylan sang of in his song Lay Lady Lay. And as much as I loved the joke of that song and my bed mingling in my mind, the compromise of two people sharing a home meant that I had to part with my brass bed. Maybe my husband Ryan didn't like sleeping in his in-law's bed? Maybe we are just thirty-year-old hipsters aching for the non-sense of a low-lying platform bed. We'll never know. Unless I ask him, I guess.