Legend has it that my great-grandmother used to sing a little lullaby that goes like this:
Bed, bed, beautiful bed
Somewhere to lay your fat head
Get in it, flop in it
Lie in it, drop in it
Don't say good-bye to your bed
In addition to laying a solid foundation for years of therapy learning to love my fat head and get out of bed already, this sort of ethic produced in me a sincere and abiding love of my bed. I have always taken care to have strong opinions about where I spent 8-10 hours a day, and I think it has been a wise investment. If you hate having a flat sheet mummify you in the night, lose the sheet, get yerself a duvet with a cover, and get on with your life (I recommend this particular suggestion highly; you will find sleep is more comfortable and bed-making a breeze).
My current bed may be the best I've ever known. Although sharing it with another person causes all of my neurotic hackles to rise up in violent alert and accusation ("What does a person have to DO to get the comforter to rotate 180 degrees while one is asleep, pray tell? How does one manage to get a fitted sheet designed to accommodate one of those massive pillow-top jumbos to unfurl from the edge of our slimmer-than-average mattress? And what's it gonna take to get you to KNOCK IT THE HELL OFF??? Oh, and you're messing up the pillows."), I still enjoy it more than any other bed I have had in my adult life. Childhood beds are laced with memories of happy dreams and (admittedly highly neurotic) sleep-0vers, so they are in another category.
I like our bed because it was the fruit of a great many labors. Ryan and I spent our first months sleeping on a bed that I feel certain caused us both adult-onset scoliosis while we shopped (and shopped...and shopped...and shopped) for the perfect mattress. A certain connection was able to get us a deal on the mattress of our choosing, and we didn't even have to eat a flying rodent, so we figured, since bed handouts don't come very often, we better choose wisely. We alerted our benefactor to the mattresses we found most appealing, to see if any of them might be available to us.
A few weeks later, something very strange happened. A huge moving van arrived; it's contents a dual-adjustable hospital-type bed. It arrived in four parts (two mattresses and two seriously serious metal frames) and was deposited in our living room. It in no way resembled the mattresses we described, and it came without warning.
We gave it a shot, but quickly learned that a canyon in the bed does not facilitate sleep or anything else. Something had to be done, and craigslist was the guy for the job.
We sold the bed to a fellow whose chronic back pain relegated him to sleeping on a reclining chair, and took the money straight to the mattress store and bought one of the beds we had been coveting. We sold the original spine-grinder, too, for three times what we paid for it, which still wasn't much, and bought a nice low-profile platform frame to put our new treasure on. Life was looking up.
A few months later, I rediscovered a duvet I had purchased at Ikea a few years back and had never unwrapped, since I found another one on sale. We decided to return it and then, armed with a gift card worth $161.43, set out to see if we were buying what Ikea was selling. It turned out that we were, because they were selling bedsheets and ours looked like swiss cheese following an incident involving me and a gallon of Clorox. Ryan liked the magenta best; I heartily agreed.
This morning as I stood in the bathroom watching Ryan brush his teeth (I consider this entertainment), I began to wax on about our bed. I love the billowy duvet, I love the pink sheets that get softer every time I wash them but never seem to lose an ounce of pigment. I love the nice small mattress so I don't need a ladder or pole vault to get into bed. I love the low frame, and how it can accommodate as many suitcases and plastic bins as I care to shove under there. I went on and on."I mean, honey, it's just, like, such a great storage area!" (Watching someone brush his teeth does not seem to incite my cleverest speaking).
Ryan spit out his rinse-water that instant, stood, and caught me into a bear hug. He said, all cozy-like, "MAN! I am going to kiss your brain off! You are so great!"
Huh? Because I like the bed? What? I mean, I'll take the hug, but I'm a little confused.
"Why am I so great again? Remind me?"
"The bed is a great story fairytale?!?! I have no idea what it means, but you are so cute!"
"Um, Ryan...I didn't say that cute thing."
"Well, no. I said that under the bed was a great storage area."
"Oh. I still love you."