Ok so I know most of you are going to relate to parts of this story whether you are single or married, but it helps to relate more if you have dogs.
Natalie has a mattress topper she isn’t using (because she doesn’t live here anymore, sob) so I decided to move it upstairs to my bed. Her bed was two twins pushed together and mine is a king so I figured it would work.
First I had to wait for my sheets to dry because one thing I learned the hard way is you can never leave a dog, even for a minute, in a room with a foam topper. Unless you want to spend the next three hours cleaning up mattress bits. So you really need to co-ordinate this operation. Foam gets carried up, goes on and then the sheet goes on top immediately.
I lugged the huge foam thing upstairs and got it on the bed using the hurling method. Then I discovered that two twins don’t make a king or a california king and suddenly I caught myself wondering what size bed I have anyway and which is bigger the king or the california king because I wanted the biggest and based on this foam pad that’s too big, I didn’t get the biggest when I got my new bed. Which is unfair since I have six dogs.
So my next thought, and this is really for the single ladies…my next thought was, “as God is my witness, this foam topper that doesn’t fit is not moving one more inch; it is staying here because if I have to carry it back down by myself I will cry, besides where else can I put it if not on this bed?”
Then I got a bright idea.
I decided that foam can be cut. Or maybe a better word is I realized. No I remembered. It occurred to me that foam can be trimmed to fit. This is when if you are in a relationship your partner steps in. “Babe, babe I’m wondering if you know where the gardening sheers are and would you be a love and fetch them because I am about to have a moving- stuff mental-nervous-breakdown. Kiss-kiss.”
But instead, being alone, I grabbed the nearest pair of scissors and went for it. Now I found myself seriously wishing my daughter’s bed had been smaller because this topper was starting to look insurmountably huge. And that’s when it occurred to me that I was married to this project until such time as a protective sheet could be secured on said bed. I would not be able to do it in stages. I needed to forge ahead without stopping.
I cut and I cut and then I became aware of a couple of things. First, when the scissors plunge into the beige foam and you look down at what you’re doing, what you see looks like a butt crack. With little scissors you get a little butt and with the bigger sheers it’s more Beyonce. The next thing I became aware of was I was narrating in my head. I narrate in my head most of the time when I’m alone. I used to critique and criticize myself incessantly in my head when I was younger so though I do understand that a clear mind is the goal, I’m ok with the narrator gig.
Do any of you narrate in your head? Before you say “um, no” remember that it is through an act of over-sharing that I learned that one of my friends talks to himself when he’s alone, too. He usually plays the part of a basketball star and interviews himself. I answer tough questions in my car. The car is where I usually do it. So first person narration can’t be just me.
I started narrating even more once I realized that I was doing it and suddenly I noticed that the dogs were watching me cut the topper. Hilarious. First off, they seemed concerned. I think Roxy and Ty wanted me to know that you’re not supposed to scissor your bed. The other dogs might have been watching me for signs that I might feed them soon. Maybe they thought they were being supportive, I dunno, but I was surrounded by rapt dog.
I did ok with the cutting but it was mighty slow. You married folks would be calling in the hubby to take a turn right about now. I had to keep going though. And I was getting sick of cutting. One thing I know to do when something tires but you have to keep going is: change direction. Going to other end did help break things up a bit. But when I had about a foot left I thought I couldn’t go on.
I went on.
I put the sheet on the bed and took a deserved flop joined by six dogs and after five seconds supine, I bolted up and got all of them OFF because have you seen what a dog does to a clean sheet? (think sand and rocks x 6 dogs) I had to drag myself downstairs to get the clean comforter and then when I was done with that, because I was free-cleaning, I headed off in another direction to do something.
But tonight, I am going to be so happy getting into that bed.
Wait. I feel a wet spot. Is it dog pee or did I not dry this comforter thoroughly? Wait, there are other patches and it just feels damp so it isn’t dog pee. Phew. But what if it doesn’t dry and gets all mildewy? Dang, it felt steamin’-hot dry when I took it out of the drier. Oh wait, that always happens with comforters. My bad.
Like I said, so long as I don’t touch one of about twelve damp spots, I am going to be so happy getting into bed tonight. If the dogs give me some room.