The Hills & Valleys of . . .

"The Opposite of Patience" - 8 x 10" colored pencil
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. . . my mattress. Gentle reader, I am sleep deprived. My wedding bed has become a wedding trench. My husband and I may start at opposite sides of the bed, but as sure as any bill coming out of Congress will support big business, by the middle of the night, we are seeing things eye to eye. And nose to nose. And elbow to breast bone. And knee to thoracic vertebrae.

It's our fault, of course, for buying one of those mattresses out of a classified ad. Yes, yes, I know, but we were just starting out, and we were poor, and wait . . what's changed? Anyway. So, it was one of those classified ads that says something like "New Mattresses in Factory Packaging for $200 -- includes box spring and ear plugs to cover up my laughing as you drive away with my product!" Well, bright and dewy eyed with anticipation of mattressial (I made that word up, isn't it cool?) perfection, we met the mattress guy at the agreed location, which turned out to be a self storage facility. He was driving some sort of red convertible which I am sad to say he leapt out of when he saw us.

He led us to a storage cubicle and began to lift the door. Strangely enough, he didn't say, "Whoops, wrong one!" as illegal substances began to pour onto the concrete. Instead, he flung it open and revealed a little dark mattress showroom! Complete with a mattress to try out! So, my husband and I lay down on it and agreed that this was the most comfortable we had ever felt lying down in a self storage facility. So we bought the mattress and box spring. Strapped those suckers onto our groaning pick up truck (which has since gone over the Rainbow Bridge to where all small pick up trucks with not enough power go to).

And for the first few months, all seemed well. Then, a strange liquid began dripping from the ceiling. Oh, wait, I'm thinking of a different story. Actually, the bed began to make loud groaning noises whenever you sat on it. These weird moans from hell have only gotten louder as it ages and I'm now convinced that there are at least one or two trapped souls of the damned in my mattress. Only the top one. The box spring is spiritually vacant, as far as I know. Perhaps it's these damned souls that have created the valley in the middle of the mattress. Perhaps it's them that perform the Dr. Phil-like act of bringing me and my husband closer together every night.

Oh, mattress gods, please exorcise those trapped springy souls and give me back my supportive yet cushiony surface for my recumbant somnulant activities! I beg you! I'm desperate!

Links for this Post:
Another Pick Up Truck That Unsuccessfully Tried to Cross Rainbow Bridge
A Mattress Article Where A Guy in a Post Afterwards Suggests Filling Old Mattresses With Concrete
Band Called "Once Upon a Mattress"