At five my beside table didn’t exist. In my small room there was a bed, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. ON the floor; lino these were the good old days.
At ten I still had no bedside table, but the chest of drawers was next to the bed doubling its function. It had an old camera, a couple of toys and little else.
At twenty I was in my own space -a tiny bedsit, with no space for a beside table, but there was a shoebox on the floor where I dropped my keys , loose change and anything I would need the next morning. Bedside the bow was a radio alarm clock- just the essentials.
By twenty-five I was c-habiting. The beside table was a dresser and for the first time in my life there was an ashtray, a packet of cigarettes and a lighter constantly present. Yes my hubby was the type that lit up after a night of passion.
At thirty we were in our own flat. Bedside tables on each side of the bed. Each had a drawer to hold the bed-time essentials, but on top were matching lamps and on my side that old faithful radio alarm clock. From time to time other paraphernalia appeared as needed- condoms and lube of course, tissues and poppers.
By forty there was little change in the layout of the bedside table. WE had entered the comfortable rut years of our marriage.
Now at just over fifty – and in a different country -there are still bedside lamps, an alarm clock (old faithful has changed sides of the bed), but now pill bottles and a bottle of water complete the picture.
How crazy that one can tell my life just by looking at my bedside tables over the years…