My New Bed

At some point in the past, my body became old.

I suddenly became one of "those" people who needs a special bed.

But, in my defense, the bed we have been sleeping on is caved in in the middle, and if we're not careful we end up rolling into each other in the middle of the night and risk suffocation. 

After waking up on my stomach, my body imitating a smiley face, I decided it was time for a change. I painfully rolled over and tried to stand up. All my muscles protested. 

"Jeremy!" I snapped. "We need a new bed!"

And then I hobbled off like an old lady to use the potty. 

We looked into it, and since we didn't feel like selling our souls for a muy expensivo bed, we settled on a moderately inexpensive bed from Costco. 

I went ahead and ordered it, and checked the shipping status three times a day for a week, just in case the bed magically managed to come early. 

The day and time came, and I ran out to the front porch, dolly in tow. 

I flipped the box over and over on it's ends, and it dumped itself onto the dolly, and we were on our way, down the driveway, into the basement garage.

I was quivering with anticipation!

I made sure I knew what I was doing before I unloaded the 123 lb mattress (really heavy). They had managed to squeeze the whole thing into a 4X2 box, and since Mom had told me her own experience with memory foam mattresses, I felt quite prepared. 

I read the instructions carefully.

There was only one instruction, so that wasn't too hard. I was now fully informed on how I should never remove the stitched on mattress cover. 

The whole things was rolled into a tight ball, about half my height, and completely covered in thick plastic. 

In my mind, I figured I could cut it in such a way that the whole thing would spring from its confines and land exactly square on my box spring. I get my optimism from Dad. 

Anyway, I took a pair of scissors and carefully cut down the middle of the first of two plastic wrappings. 

As I slid the scissors down the length of the plastic, careful not the cut the mattress, a tell-tale hissing began.

"No," I said. "NO, NO, NO!" 

The mattress was oozing from the first plastic wrap, slowly filling itself, and moving across my bedroom floor like a giant expanding BoogerSlug. 

"NO!" I cried, but it was too late. 

I stared, deflated, as the mattress expanded. 

"Oh, well," I growled, and threw up my hands, and cut the second plastic wrap. 

This gave the mattress more gumption, and it inflated rapidly.

In all about 3 minutes, I had a queen size mattress valiantly attempting to fill its every inch with air that would, as the instructions stated, "oxidize and turn a completely natural yellow." Erm...

Luckily for me, the mattress hadn't regained complete consciousness, and was dealing with post-packaging rigor mortise, and I was able to launch the whole thing onto my box spring. 

"Ha!" I exclaimed, triumphant.

The mattress looked stunned, and froze in place, kind of like a giant, legless roly poly. 

The picture isn't blurry. It's the haze the smell produced after I released the mattress from its plastic sarcophagus.

I won. 

Until I realized that my sheets would fit.

And the mattress laughed.