Hi. I'm Mrs. Squirrel and this is my blog.
The Bed That Satan Built
I’m back. Happy September! August tore me a new one with its traveling and playdates and hotness and everything — I think this was my least blogged month ever. But we’re back from our long trip to the Say Yes! State.
For the most part, it was awesome, but then again, I did have to sleep five nights on the aforementioned Bed That Satan Built (and then sold to Ethan Allen to then sell to my mom who then placed it in the guest room and continues to ignore my subtle comments about its pain-inducing qualities).
Seriously, for being quite the people pleaser (and no, she’s not a prostitute), she will not relent on this bed. Yes, in theory, the bed is from a fine furniture store and appears both comfortable and inviting. BUT. BIG BUT(s):
1. It’s a full. That could really end the discussion right there, but let me just add: two adults should not have to sleep in a full bed especially when I have sub-points. Even worse than subpoints? My inability to indent them to be all subpointy. Sigh. DAMN THAT BED and its associated issues.
1a. The bed has a footboard which makes the squarish full mattress even stubbier and you feel all boxed in.
1a1. So then I can’t even stretch my feet off the bed, which I normally would never do because of this and that (Kevin Bacon + sleeping on back + knife-wielding maniac under bed = lifetime of stomach sleeping/not hanging limbs off of bed).
2. The sheets continually pull off the bed. Sure, mom, the sheets come from yet another fine store, I’m sure, but the elastic went buh-bye around the turn of the century. Waking up with your face planted on the mattress every. single. morning. gets old.
3. The mattress was stuffed by Satan with pain-inflicting Evil. Pure and simple. It honestly makes NO sense why it wouldn’t be comfortable. Box Spring? Check. Well-made mattress? Check. WTF? I don’t know, it must be something inside…something that undulates and pokes and prods and generally does not allow rest. We’re constantly tossing, turning and grumbling.
3a. At one point during this trip, after Mr. Squirrel left to return to work, I decided to try sleeping in different directions. One can’t sleep sideways, as it’s too narrow — so I did a sort of diagonal, which was not too bad. The next night I slept with my head at the opposite end, on top of the folded comforter and extra blanket in sort of a lumpy/head-raised uncovered by sheets (which I do not like because I can’t cover my neck from these. I have Post Horror Movie Traumatic Sleep Disorder. That’s PHMTSD to you.). Jojo came in to wake me and the wacky position threw him for a pre-breakfast cryfest. I think he thought the bed killed me. It might have tried; luckily, I persevered.