This past weekend, I spent a day transferring music from my old Dell to shiny Mac. It's been over three years since I got this work machine and I do NOT have any music on it. This task truly was the pinnacle of my productivity, and hence I rewarded myself by going to a colleague's party (the details of which shall make for an excellent post someday- not today).

So, I was absolutely surprised when I found a set of toothbrush and toothpaste in my laptop bag. To those of you who have been spared from the details of my life, I do not stay over at places.


Period.


All that prevents me from doing it is my pre-bed routine consisting of brushing my teeth. Which is fairly simple, so to say, since I can always buy another toothbrush and keep it in my bag (circa laptop bag). However, I don't. And for a good measure.

It was three years ago, at a friend's party that I was narrating an incident about the time I exited from a surreal evening which I was sharing with a fine lad who I'd just met.

"Stay. You can sleep on my bed.", he'd offered.

The insides of my stomach curled when I looked into his drunk kind eyes and replied,

"No, I can't. Um I'm not carrying a toothbrush.", I replied softly, hoping he'd ignore the silliness in my logic.

He didn't fight me much and I exited. On my way back I thought about the veracity of my statement. I'd not stayed over the previous few times at my friends', cousins and the likes. I hated the idea of sleeping on someone else's bedsheets (god knows when they wash it). Sure, it's equal part toothbrush as it is hygiene but it's also something more.

As I finished narrating the incident out loud, another fine gentleman at the party decided to up the ante and offer me his toothbrush, in a hypothetical situation ofcourse.

"Would you then stay over, I'll give you mine if you don't want a new brush?"

I fought the urge to cover my cheeks so they wouldn't flush red, and denied it downright.

"I wouldn't do it."

While my friends from the evening tease me mercilessly about this interaction and my bluntness (because we have literally have run out of topics to talk) I think about this episode a lot.

It came back to me in entirety when I saw my laptop bag and that old toothbrush. The last time I crashed at a friend's house with that set was at my OCD friend's. Five of us worked through the night to complete two scripts and managed an hour worth of sleep on a queen sized bed. "That's probably why it's there in the laptop bag, anyway.", I thought to myself.

However, the more I think about it, the more this toothbrush concept seems farcical to me.

Ever since I picked this job, I've had at least a dozen incidents when I have passed out sober on my bed, with my phone on my face and in my work clothes. Without brushing, ofcourse. I sit on the bed under the pretext of taking some time off and the next thing I know it's 8 am and the bra's piercing through my chest, almost as if cursing me for not wrapping pre-bed routine successfully. I literally hate the mornings when I wake up in that state.

What's funny is that there have been quite a few of those in the last couple of months. Increasing at an alarming rate.

This evening, I found myself checking packages for resorts. Delhi crossed 39 Degree celsius and it's only March. I need to either invest in a kiddy pool or Canadian visa.

However, all that I can afford is a vacation.

One thing led to another and I found myself checking reviews of a place in godawful Sohna Road, or the Rio to my New York. One of the most recurrent complaints given in reviews was about the bed. The room with the mattresses you do not want to leave is an upward of 2 lakhs a night.

I shut the tab and I knew it.

It's my bed.

It's not the men, the excuses, the poor hygiene or my oral hygiene as much as it is my bed. I fucking love my bed. The ten-inch pocket spring mattress that had to be custom made and I had to wait for a month cause nobody in India buys that (the shopkeepers would look at me and sternly say that).

Without any offence to anyone, I've grown up sleeping on a similar mattress that my family had brought back from Chicago. For two decades I slept on something oh so soft, and different from other people's beds that I could never sleep well at anyone else's. Night stay with family would be amazing but when it would come to going to bed, I'd be sad. No comfortable mattress = unhappy Snobster. To this day, I feel there are a few people who I'd consider staying over at. I love them to death to be able to give a night's comfortable sleep for their company. No other reason.

At some point, I need to embrace the fact that it's not always going to be cushy or easy and just the way I have my toothbrush fails, I can always allow myself to sleep on an uncomfortable mattress. But no. Don't think I've found anyone worthy of seeing my morning face covered in drool and sleeping on 3/4 of King Sized bed. Not yet. Not looking either.