The Monster Under the Bed

We've all been there. 

We've all have one of these.

I'm pretty sure there are some who, perhaps, over-embellished and some who still deny this fact, but everyone has had a monster under the bed at some time of their lives. 

If you're lucky, you got over this when you were a kid. 

If a bit less than lucky, like me, you still have one. 

I'm well aware of the faces you are making as you are reading this, but, frankly, I'm beyond caring about that right now. 

It's there, and I know it. 

It knows that I know that it's there. 

Which is probably worse. 

But I don't mind. 

I think it doesn't really mind, either. 

We get along reasonably well, so long as I don't try to vacuum under there and infringe upon its personal space. I mean, who would like to be violated in such a way? I sure wouldn't. So I can sort of understand this monster. 

It's not the violent kind, so I don't get kicked from beneath in the middle of the night. Sometimes, even, I get the blanket put back on me if I kick it off in my sleep. 

It's a nice monster, I've always thought. 

And I don't mind when it nibbles at the food I put on the ground while watching internet movies from my bed. 

I always bring enough for two. 

Some people are scared of their monsters. 

I've never really understood why. 

They're just like the rest of us, I think.