If you have seen me lately and noticed the gleam in my eyes and the stupid grin on my face, you caught me. I’m having a love affair…with my bed. After nearly fourteen years of marriage with the same mattress that has resulted in a daily gift of morning back pain, we threw in the towel and finally bought a new bed. A really nice one this time. It was delivered on Monday, and I haven’t been the same since.
“It will be so good for you,” the salesman told us. “Your body will be so well supported throughout the night that you will toss and turn less, which means you will spend more time getting quality sleep, and you will feel much more rested in the morning and therefore be more productive during your day.” I looked around at the ads sporting beautiful women sprawled out on beds conveniently located near waterfalls and actually believed for a moment that I might lose weight and go on an exotic vacation if I would simply purchase this bed. But even the basics were better than our current situation. Support? Sleep? Rest? Productivity? Sounds good to me, sign me up for the King size (we’re upgrading mom, but I promise that we will still snuggle and that this won’t be the unraveling of our marriage) and show me the dotted line!
Since the arrival of this beautiful contraption, I can attest to the following. Support? Check. Sleep? Check. More rested and productive? Not so much. For starters, I don’t care if there is a lining of cashmere it would take a very special concoction that might require narcotics to make me more productive. But aside from that, my main issue is that now when I wake up in the morning all I can think of is, How long until I get to come back? As soon as I get up I fantasize about returning. I walk around in a daze and count down to the magical hour of bedtime. That pillow top alone, where have you been all my life? Anyway, so if you see me and wonder what’s happened, don’t worry. I just can’t wait to get to sleep.