Once Upon a Mattress

There should be a 12-Step program for the commitment-phobic. It’s just so hard to cleave to my iPod Touch when I know the next generation will be out—and out-of-stock--by Christmas. I’ll be stuck lusting in my heart for bells and whistles I can never have.

Better to wait.

That’s why it took me ten years to buy a mattress. How could I ever know if we were truly compatible from a five-minute showroom speed date? Yeah, the old one was shot. But we fit. We knew each other’s failings. We kept each other’s secrets. We both knew it could be worse.

Finally, I sent the pitiful old queen packing and started flirting with some studly kings. It was a new experience. The first thing I learned is not all kings are built the same. Some are longer. Some are wider. It’s a personal choice.

I had to think hard about that one. After much hand wringing I went with the wide model, the Eastern King. Here’s my logic: I know for sure I’m not getting any taller. Everything else is in flux.

My husband recommended we consider the sleep number bed. Naturally, I was suspicious. Since when did he become the expert on other mattresses? He says business trips. I guess that is possible.

Anyway, this bed is filled with bladders of air that can be “dialed” to expand or contract for perfect individualized comfort. In theory, we all have a pre-ordained sleep number not unlike our sun sign.

I asked my husband his sleep number. He said he didn’t know. He slept at whatever setting the guy before him had. That was disgusting. I mean, even on business trips he ought to have standards.

Next, I stopped at a conventional mattress store. They carry mattresses that after six months have pokey springs and giant dips. But their covers are pretty and they cost as much as the car you drove up in. So they are tempting.

Just for fun, I asked the sales person what she thought of the competitor’s dial-up-air bed. She got a stinky look and whispered how she had heard stories of people popping the air bladders with too-pointy pencils. I was horrified.

It wasn’t that I was too worried about pointy pencils in this house. No pencil here has any point at all. But I was concerned that one day I hope to see my chiseled hip bones again, and I’d hate to potentially carve up my mattress just by turning over. That was a deal-killer for me.

My mattress jaunt was turning into an epic quest. I tried another place where they manufacture their own mattresses. The “hook” was their mattresses are flippable. That didn’t impress me much since I didn’t realize most mattresses today are one-siders only. I wonder if they have stickers underneath, “Sleeping prohibited on this side under penalty of law.”

So I tried one out. It was divine. I bought it. I love it…I’m pretty sure, for now. I think.