I've basically been sleeping on one of those Flintstone beds for the past few years. Just a very uncomfortable slab of bumpy rock. Except, worse even. If I so much as contemplate rolling over in it, the mattress squeaks so loudly that it sets off car alarms in India.
If you've ever hear car alarms going off on the other end of your customer service calls late at night, it's probably because I blinked in bed in Salt Lake City.
Y'all. I'm an insomniac. I think this is one of those chicken/egg things because I'm not sure whether I'm an insomniac because my bed is from 1745 or if my bed feels like sleeping on top of a pile of rocks because I'm an insomniac and therefore unable to get comfortable anywhere.
Various friends have conducted aggressive interventions with me over the years, demanding that I upgrade to something called "a grownup bed." They do this as though I still sleep in a race car bed, which is kind of offensive but OH MY GOSH NOW THAT WE'RE ON THE SUBJECT DO THEY MAKE THOSE IN ADULT SIZE?
Also, we all secretly wanted the Full House pencil bed LONG after it was still ok to want the Full House pencil bed.
Yesterday I finally bit the bullet and went mattress shopping with Matt Pants and Ollie Pants (whom I now collectively refer to as "the Pantses"). Matt drove us to a place called "Mattress Dealzz." I was skeptical about this establishment because I generally approach any business that replaces the letter S with multiple Zs with some caution, but Mr. Pants was already in a dead sprint for the front door before I could tell Matt to drive on.
AND YES, LEE. WE DO TAKE MR. PANTS INTO STORES AND SOMETIMES WE DRESS HIM UP AS A BABY AND PUSH HIM AROUND IN A STROLLER SO WE CAN GET HIM INTO FOOD ESTABLISHMENTS. Hashtag not ashamed.
We got into the store and were immediately approached by a very friendly and helpful salesman. And let it be known here and now that I, Eli Whittlebloom McCann, discovered last night that there is nothing more awkward in this world than testing out mattresses while the salesman stands by and watches.
Maybe I was doing it wrong, but I really had no idea how to adequately try each mattress for purposes of assessing whether or not it was something I wanted to spend a full ONE-THIRD of my life plopped on top of. I felt like lying politely on my back wasn't really all that informative. But I was also extremely uncomfortable tossing and turning on it to get the full bed effect in front of an audience. So I compromised by basically doing several really awkward half sit-ups on each mattress and saying things like, "well now! Isn't that comfortable!" In my grandma voice.
IN MY GRANDMA VOICE.
Eventually I made what was probably barely more than an impulse decision and pulled the trigger on a mattress I still know nothing about after the salesman told me it was 70% off for reasons I didn't really understand but I'm hoping it has nothing to do with someone having been murdered on it.
I texted hashtag Bob and Cathie to see if they were available to show up in their truck and help me transport the mattress home. They rolled into the parking lot 15 minutes later, gave me their usual song and dance about "WHY HAVEN'T YOU GIVEN US GRANDCHILDREN" and then helped me load the merchandise.
My plan was to take my Flintstone mattress and move it down into a guest bedroom in the basement. Wade moved out recently leaving a hole in my home AND A HOLE IN MY HEART and so now I am trying to figure out how to furnish his used-to-be living quarters even though the stairwell leading to the basement is basically every crawl space from The Descent.
I'm not kidding about this. I cannot get any furniture into this basement. And I knew it was going to be a stretch to attempt to squeeze a queen-sized mattress down this staircase. But y'all. After everyone left, I huffed and puffed and pulled that mattress, folded basically in half, through that tiny stairwell. From the basement's perspective, it looked like my house was giving birth to a mattress. I now know how to deliver a baby. If anyone is looking for a midwife, give me a call. 1-800-miracle-fingers.
NOT THAT WE KNOW WHAT A BIRTH CANAL IS CATHIE AND I DON'T EVEN SAY "Y'ALL!"
~It Just Gets Stranger