There’s something visceral and grandiloquent about buying a new bed. There’s the ceremony (sprawling across endless beds in a big showroom, the dismantling and removal of the old bed, the nail-biting anticipation as the delivery boys haul your new mattress up the stairs), the cherry-busting (where you lay down on your new mattress in your own space and relish your eternal wisdom at investing in such a work of art), and the dress-rehearsal, which involves a trip to the linen store for the most plush flannel sheet set you can find, plus a mattress cover, and, of course, yet a fourth pillow because you’ve got a bigger bed, so why not?
For the last three years, I’ve slept on a very comfortable full-sized Sealy Posturepedic, but, like the Matrix, my sleep experience has been reloaded by the happy addition to my bedroom of a Simmons Beautyrest Quinlan Plush Queen. Combine the pop-culture definition of “womb” with a beloved grandmother’s luxurious lap, your mother’s bosom, the backseat of a Bentley, and the perfect sofa and you’ll approximate how comfortable this bad boy is.
This morning, it took me four hours to fully awaken and detach myself from the bed. That’s dangerous. I can easily see myself becoming addicted to the Beautyrest’s narcotic bewitchments.
I suppose life could be more difficult than a simple love affair with one’s mattress, and if I died in bed because I forgot to eat, at least I’d be cozy, warm, and soundly dreaming.