Sandy Feet
My secret is…incredibly weird. I like having sand in my bed. Not to the extent that I’m buying sand to put in my bed or that it’s up near my head or on my pillow. Just down near my feet, just that little bit that falls off your feet when you get back from a day at the beach.
I’m pretty sure it stems from my family trips to Outer Banks and Myrtle Beach as a kid. Those dog days of summer, spending the whole day just running around, swimming, making sandcastles, digging holes, all to come back to the beach house exhausted, and immediately collapse on the bed.
I can vividly remember waking up still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, with the smell of breakfast wafting in. It was in those small moments I felt happiest, most content.
Like everything in the universe was exactly where it should be. At the time, the sand left under the covers was a neutral detail.
But over time I guess it became subconsciously associated with those special moments, caught in the wake of fonder memories, and now here we are. Story credit: Reddit / madtraxmerno