You get into your bed which seems extra soft; your pillows feel extra fluffy; the house is warm enough to be cozy, but cool enough to snuggle deep into your blankets; somehow the bed seems 10" wider, so that you and your significant other are close enough to be secure, but far enough away that no ones arm is draped over the others forehead and everyone has enough room for their legs; your mind is pleasantly at ease, and slipping into sleep is like wading into a deliciously warm bath...
Except an hour into your perfect sleep night, someone small in the next room throws up. And then starts shrieking as you clean hair, sheets and floor. Shrieking loud enough that the even smaller person in the adjacent room wakes up and also begins shrieking as your clomp down the stairs, an armload of smelly sheets and jammies in your arms. By the time you get everyone settled, cooling blotchy tear streaked faces, offering sips of water and gingerale and rubbing backs until the house is once again quiet.
So you slide in socked feet back to your perfect sleep.
Except now some bogart has replaced your bed with a sack filled with rocks; and the fluffy down feathers from your pillows are poking though the case and scratching your ears; the house is fifteen degrees warmer than it needs to be and your significant other is laying half on top of you, snoring noisily with morning breath. But at that point, you're just too exhausted to care and you drift off to sleep wondering if you remembered to pay the bills online last week, and if you locked your car.
I effing hate when that happens.