I may have mentioned that our old mattress, the one we bought a year after we got married (to replace the one Husband's mother bought for him, at a garage sale, when he was a teenager. Oh, we don't rush into these things) might not make it a full 30 years, given that I've taken to getting up every morning and whining about how poorly I slept. It has become Prairie Home Companion's Deep Valley Bed, the one in which couples may go to bed mad but they can't stay mad because the bed keeps rolling them toward the middle. (The PHC version is much funnier than that, but unfortunately those Lake Woebegone folks apparently are dynamite at protecting their content, because the lyrics are NOWHERE ON THE INTERNET and I'm going strictly off memory here.)
Anyway, we've been saving the egg money for quite some time, and now we're buying a mattress. And since we don't plan to buy another one before we toddle off to Friendly Acres and the retirement village-issued sleeping conditions, this has been a monumental decision. What size? What firmness?
What material, for crying out loud? Remember the good old days when mattresses were either...well, there was no either. There just was a mattress or not a mattress. (Waterbeds, obviously, were the second option.) Now you have pillowtops, and foam, and cool foam, and about eleventy-seven choices and NONE of them can be compared as apples to apples or oranges to oranges. It's all grapes to kumquats and pomegranates to tamarinds.
Again anyway, we finally have posed unnaturally on our backs on every single mattress in the Small Town stock of mattresses and have made a decision. Our decision will be delivered at 1 p.m. today. Right now our bedroom looks approximately like this:
I don't even care. Tonight I will sleep well.