Breaking the bed is definitely all it’s cracked up to be.

We were at odds last night. I was chattier than a monkey at brunch and my man was more keen for sleep than a mother when the baby is howling. All I wanted was a few moments of pillow talk, those beautiful, judge-free conversations you have in the dark before rest stills the mouth and mind. But he wasn’t keen, preferring instead to roll over and actually sleep.
I took the hint. Decided it was time to compromise and let the man sleep after a hard day of toil. 
Not. 
As if a sleep-hating demon had possessed me, I began to jump up and down on the bed, higher and higher. I heard him rustle beside me and thought I was winning – surely he’d be keen for a chat once I demonstrated how much fun could be had while awake. 
Then, suddenly… Crack! 
All at once the dream faded as the ageing bed collapsed and took out my new red lamp on the way. The sheer smash was louder than the thunderstorm in the teacup that was to follow with my boyfriend’s quiet, white rage. F***, he yelled, with the passion of a stallion at dusk. And so my jumping stilled.
At once I was reminded why my mother told me not to jump on the bed, obviously the action was not kind to the bed, structurally. The other thought playing through my mind featured the futon bed that I smashed last year in a similar fashion. 
Alas, I had no time to ask when the lesson would penetrate the skull because the rage beside me was moving and I could stifle the laugh no longer. The pillow was handy but even it’s duck feather filling could not disguise my mirthful delight. I was happier than the kid that convinced their parents that bubble gum was good for dental hygiene.
To be frank, I adore naughtiness. When I travelled in Brazil I stayed with a friend’s family and the first phrase I learned was ‘muito san vergonha’, which loosely translates to very naughty – or has Google has just informed me, the phase is actually closer to very shameful. My mate’s mother could definitely see through my disgraceful bed-making attempts and I had to sit red-faced through a demonstration of how to make a bloody bed. At least I learned that awesome word and felt content that I was not behaving myself, as my mother had instructed.
Last night I had the same kooky satisfaction. I hope that I never take home a title like well-behaved!!
On the downside, however, after a night with a mattress on the floor, I think we may have mice. 
Balancing these factors, I believe it is always best to take the more interesting, laugh-worthy cause of action. So, go on, jump to it!