Last month one of us admitted it. Our six by six that we bought two years ago was a panic buy. Full stop. No other way to categorise it other than we made a monster. We didn’t measure the doorway. We didn’t measure the stairs.
Hell, we didn’t consider the actual physical universe the mattress had to journey through to land in our bedroom, and three fully grown adults shouted at a mattress for forty minutes on a Tuesday evening while the fourth one filmed it just… why?
We still don’t have an answer that makes sense.
That isn’t the point though, what no one tells you is that having a super king changes your relationship with your bed entirely.
There’s suddenly a DMZ down the centre of it where no elbows are allowed. Ever. The duvet situation becomes tricky because even a super king duvet on a super king mattress still isn’t quite enough duvet and one of us has been sleeping with a spare throw draped over their feet for YEARS rather than accept they probably need a bigger one.
We love kicking our legs across it, mainly. You can truly become a starfish when you go to bed. Nobody’s knee is in anybody’s back at 3am. Nobody wakes up crushed against the side as if they’re a fridge magnet to the bed. Dogs that think they’re humans, toddlers that believe 5am is an appropriate time to discuss sleeping positions benefit from the extra width like nothing else. It grants you actual peace, rather than just theoretical peace.
But let’s not pretend it doesn’t have it’s downsides. It consumes a bedroom. Pop a super king into a medium sized room and suddenly the whole place becomes one awkward corridor that you shuffle along sideways through and I promise at least two of you will bang a hip on something that previously had enough space to exist without requiring hostilities. The sheets are more expensive, yeah, but the part that really burns is how few retailers even sell a decent fitted sheet. You end up with about three options and they all know it.
You Might Also Like
Speaking of downsides, another glitch in the matrix that nobody mentions is that people in relationships don’t always agree on where to sit once they’re actually in bed. We were supposed to have more space, wasn’t part of the appeal? And yet it still ends up with one side being overtaken by the scary mountain of cushions you swear no one is allowed to sit on, and the other side perpetually sliding half on and half off the bed.
And just try flipping it. Pivot it enough so both sides get worn evenly and you’ve got a new Sunday roast level team building activity. It takes at minimum two people to turn a super king. Preferably three.
And a level of communication most family units don’t utilise on anything else within the household.
We dropped it on a foot.
We’re not going to share whose.
Yes we like our super kings. We’re so invested in them we even have matching pyjamas. But please. If you’re going to do one, do it properly. Measure the bloody door. How many Tik Tok bedrooms have actually gone through their door? Measure the stairs. And while you’re at it measure the actual fold in the landing, because we didn’t and we’re still not sure who ended up with how much PTSD from the whole incident.
