Since when did sleeping on the floor become bad? Since when, now—a torture to avoid, a midlife failure to cry? Since when so unfun, unfair?
Monopoly, Risk, Chinese checkers. Sunday nights in front of the tube with our parents in their rockers and recliners behind us.
Then boyfriends. Oh what joyous days, falling to the floor from wherever we stood.
In all floor situations, not considering or caring about germs, chemicals, food crumbs, or who had shed what on the floor before we arrived.
Knee arm back and butt burns at all ages. No cause for concern. We ate, sweated, squirmed and laughed away our lives on bare floors, filthy old shags and stained sculpted piles.
Never a worry about what lay beneath us; only the joy of eating, laughing and flailing in the land of the living.