No Man's Land. Wasted space.
That's the huge empty space in the middle of the king sized bed Norman and I shared last night.
We checked into the Hampton Inn next to the airport in San Jose, Costa Rica, last night and they only had one room; smoking with a one king sized bed. ONE.
I was bending over to pick up my bags to leave when Norm said, "I'm not bothered by stuff like that."
"If it doesn't bother you, it doesn't bother me," I lied. I felt the color drain from my face. Or flush over my face. Which ever one causes a cold sweat and shakes.
I'm a homo-phobe, I know.
I can go on mission trips to places that require a ride in an armored vehicle, armed guards and kevlar vests. I can eat spiders and the intestines of a goat without batting an eye. I've hiked through mine fields in the African bush. But I can't handle sleeping in a bed with another dude. How weak am I?