I’m not talking about the book by EE Cummings. I’m talking about the king size bed that we bought the other day at Sleepy’s. It replaces the queen size bed that Stephanie has had for ever, the futon that I have had forever, and the floor, which is what we might have had to sleep on if Stephanie’s bed wouldn’t stop squeaking. (And no, vulgar readers, I am not referring to the squeaky squeaky noise that it might make during certain activities best left to the imagination. I am speaking of sitting on the bed, and the large squeak that comes forthwith.)
Naturally, nothing is easy. They delivered the bed on Sunday (we bought it on Saturday, after spending a good hour lying down sideways on beds, trying to imagine ourselves sleeping on them, and what it would feel like with our sheets, our pajamas, and about 7-8 hours of sacktime. We settled on a Miralux, which is a top of the line European brand that Sleepy’s just got into, enabling us to get it at a $500 discount.
However, when they delivered the bed, it turned out that it had a large grease stain on it. And our salesman had spent a lot of time telling us how even a mere stain would void our 10 year warranty. So we sent it back (well,actually they delivered it the next day.) The guys the first day who delivered it were very nice– the second guys re-delivering– not so much. I theorize because they figured that since this was a replacement, they probably wouldn’t get a tip. (we tipped the first guys of course) The second guys might have gotten a tip too, but their bad attitude left me no choice but not to reward their behavior. I believe this is what’s known as a “Self-fulfilling prophecy.” Despite this, we were relatively happy with Sleepy’s and would probably recommend them.
So the bed is in, and we’ve got two nights slept on it (well one night on the returned one, and one on the actual new one.) So far it is very comfortable and pleasant, although it’s weird not to have a headboard after so long. And it’s even more weird because Stephanie is now SO FAR AWAY. I feel like I need to build some kind of infrastructure on the bed– perhaps a series of highways, or a large funicular that would draw us closer together. (Actually, I hate to admit this, but we do often compute on the bed, side by side, and have at times IM’d while lying next to each other. That’s not a sin or anything is it? Well, if it is, so be it! This is the 21st century man. Or to paraphrase and update a bunch of Russian kids around 1989, I want my AIM.
The other weird thing is that despite the bed being larger, the room now seems larger than it was. I think it has to do with the fact that we don’t have a headboard or footboard yet– but there is actually more room in the room (although less room on the sides)
Here’s a picture for your prurient interest–
Please notice two things:
1) The air conditioner kindly given to us by my Mom. (It is super hot in these parts. Thank you Mom!)
2) The wall reading sconces, which we had made to order from the manufacturer. They cost $300+ for slightly nicer ones at Rejuvenation, but we got these for around $100 each. And they were just what we wanted.
3) The bonus thing to notice: our bedding is colorful! And it matches! Guess it goes to show you the power of compromise. (Actually, Stephanie already had these!)
And because this is a blog of enormous culture, I will also leave you with an excerpt from The Enormous Room, by ee cummings. It’s not poems, it’s a memoir, and quite funny. I recommend it!
Braced by this news, poked from behind by my t-d, and waved on from before by M. le Ministre himself, I floated vaguely into a very washed, neat, business-like and altogether American room of modest proportions, whose door was immediately shut and guarded on the inside by my escort.
Monsieur le Ministre said:
‘Lift your arms.’
Then he went through my pockets. He found cigarettes, pencils, a jack-knife, and several francs. He laid his treasures on a clean table and said: ‘You are not allowed to keep these. I shall be responsible.’ Then he looked me coldly in the eye and asked if I had anything else.
I told him that I believed I had a handkerchief.
He asked me: ‘Have you anything in your shoes?’
‘My feet,’ I said, gently.
‘Come this way,’ he said frigidly, opening a door which I had not remarked. I bowed in acknowledgment of the courtesy, and entered room number 2.
I looked into six eyes which sat at a desk.