Watching out for the faucet when I climb into bed

I write type this post because typing (usually) does not involve any muscles directly connected to my thighs and for the most part, I don't have to extend my arms too much, pulling on my arm pit muscles.
In recovery from this weekend, instead of icing my sorethings (by simply stepping outside) from the 2.5 mile cross country ski (hell yes) trek, I am sleeping in the bathtub. The reasoning for this is two fold:

1. With enough pillows and blankets, sleeping in the tub is very much like I remember the womb.
2. On the trip this weekend, The Future President of Africa and I were not jumping* on the bed and broke the frame. And not in the "give me a kitchen knife, chewed gum and six paper clips and this baby'll be back and running in eleven minutes" kind of broken. In the "Dude, the wood split. This shit is bro-kin" kind of way. You can't not jump in a bathtub and you certainly cannot break the frame.
   

Meanwhile, I'm also staying away from all ovens, particularly the broil feature because we also set nachos on fire at 5 am, set the fire alarm off and woke up half of the house. Sri was all, "It's fine, I have to get up now anyways." and Matt was a bundle of confusion;
"WHAT'S GOING ON?"
"Nothing, we burnt breakfast. It's all good now though."
"It's breakfast time?"
"Um. No."
"Oh."
"Go back to bed."
"Okay."
And this one? Well she slept right through it.

*Have you seen Harriet the Spy? You know, where she's jumping and then gets in trouble and then starts to not jump? It's crazy, bed-breaking fun. If your bed frame is made of porcelain or someone else pays for the repairs, you should go give it a try.