So, we’ve all agreed that the new Bed, the one that came today, behind the closed bedroom doors not 20 feet away from where I’m sitting right now, has to be capitalized.
Because its freakin awesome.
See, I had a decent bed. Sure, it was old, and lumpy, and handed down, and it had been flipped a dozen times trying to bring that lump/comf ratio back even, but it was good because it was a goliath California King sized monster of a bed, and I got some long legs.
Now, I was on that thing by myself for a good long time, and when I laid in it, it was like I was the ruler of a giant, industrious world of bed. The industry was, well, sleep, I guess, but it made it in spades. And I was King AT. Actually, I prefer El Presidente AT. Or maybe Duke AT. But then you get into brown humor, and nobody wants to go there.
I digress.
Anyway, that bed was the cats meow, and I slept on it like a mighty man. It was big, and cold, and pretty lonely, but the big makes up for most of it, so I had plenty of room to stretch out, or roll around, or jog in place, or whatever I fancied.
When the Lady came into the picture, and the time came to consolidate my stuff into her house because it made all sorts of sense (still does), we both totally agreed that moving a big ass industrious world of bed was probably not entirely needful, and in fact, would lead to all sorts of problems. So, I Craigslisted that bad boy, and got me like 75 clams. Score.
The Lady, now, she had had a little bed adventure (ooo, that sounds bad too…) of her own, and went out a year ago or so and bought a nice cherry bedroom set with a pillowtopped queen bed, the kind of thing that makes little puffs of cotton brag about being tuff. It was a massive ass sleigh bed, but as it was a queen, it wasn’t quite a world, and I don’t know that it was very industrious because, well, the pillowtop was a little too soft, and the mattress kept in that body heat so that your body was a bit of a scale representation of the planet Mercury, with one side (the side facing the bed) boiling hot, and the other side (the side that you’ve ripped all the covers off and fastened a lawn sprinkler to) very, very chilly. A poor compromise indeed.
But, hell, we sold that bad boy too. Now, this is where our logic seems a bit hazy. Neither of us really dug on the big ass sleigh footboard, because it liked to kick you in the leg when you weren’t paying attention, and the mattresses issues have been well documented, sure, but we ended up selling the mattress and box springs, and moving in the old family mattress that had adorned her former guest room (which was now the kids room) for us to sleep on.
The guest mattress was a queen, and had no real flaws, but a distinct lack of comf. It was not industrious. It produced sleep, but the kind of sub-quality sleep that had you pouring coffee in your hat and stretching your back against all sorts of interesting things to work out the morning kinks. We slept on that thing for a good few months, me, the Lady, and Mikey (the Beagle), and every night dreamed little dreams about the magical day when an industrious world sized bed would come into our lives.
So, we bought one. We went out a couple weeks ago, shopped around, and found a bitching headboard and mattress. The mattress is a combination of my old beds bignitude and general thermal reliability, and the Lady’s queens newness and not-old-and-bustedness. We were picky, now. We laid in many beds in the course of our shopping. We discovered that apparently california king beds are, despite the fact that they really kinda make more sense, not easily found in places that aren’t California. We found that most bed frames have foodboards, and are ugly. We found that furniture shopping is an facinating industry, filled with mazelike showrooms that lead to dead ends, leaving you prey for the slow but relentless salesperson to try to hit you with their latest financing offers, despite how many times you explain, in english, that you’re buying your bed with cash.
Finally, we found our Bed.
So here it is:
And let me tell you, its friggin sweet.
“But AT, why’s the door closed to your bedroom?”
Oh, thats because the Lady and I have fully agreed that we are not going to get on The Bed until its bedtime tonight. Because how often do you get to lay down for bed for the first time in a brand new sweet ass world of industrious and beautiful comf? Not often, man. Not often.
But the problem is, that sweet ass Bed calls. Its all like “AT, dude, she won’t know. Seriously. Take a nap.”
So I closed the door.
Keeps the cats off it too.
Friggin cats.