They call it the "Heavenly Bed". It's a Westin trademark. I've always chalked it up to marketing ju-ju. Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy and brings in an extra $30 per night for convincing customers that this hotel is better than the others. Well, its beds are better.
Except they really are.
Maybe I just needed this bed more than I've ever needed a bed before. Work carries on at a frantic pace. The night before I came up to the meeting, I had to prepare for 2 separate presentations (90 minutes of Mrs Chako airtime) the next day. I had a 3 day management meeting ahead of me, and work wasn't planning to slow down. Kids have altered football games and scheduling craziness. I might have to kill Dr. Chako.
The stress was getting to me, for sure. Couple that with a scheduled hormonal imbalance, and if I looked better in blue-gray monotone colors, had a cushy government-like job with all federal holidays, and could drive a van from the wrong side of the car, I'd be close to postal.
But then I crawled in bed last night. Five feather pillows welcomed me, cradling my head and forming a little barrier around my body. The bed rose up to meet the weight of my body, holding me gently. The duvet lay heavy upon me, as if to say "Stay put, Mrs. Chako . . . sleep."
My eyes closed in no time at all, and if I woke in the night, the bed called me back, and I would be in dreamland instantaneously. I could hardly bear to leave this morning.
Tonight, she was calling to me again. I'm trying to write, but she's lulling me to sleep, sandwiching me between layers of loveliness, warming me, comforting me. Heavenly bed . . . just like heaven.
Shhhhh . . . you'll wake the baby.
Respectfully (and sleepily) submitted,