So it is not everyday you buy a bed, in fact, it is something you do so rarely in life that it is actually a massive decision. And yet we are expected to make this decision in 10 minutes or under. Which is bloody stressful. We lie on this thing night after night, make babies in this bed, cry in this bed, dream in this bed, in fact half of our life is spent in this bed, and yet you lie on a mattress once and get asked, ‘well, is this the one madam?’ How the hell do I know!
So having just moved house, as you know, we decided it was time to Superking it – no more touching in the night, just enough space for us both to be able to sleep without even knowing the other one is there, and room for our child to crawl in between us when she fancies it – call it middle age or something sexy like that. So we go in and we choose a mattress, and it seems relatively unstressful. Then it is delivered and as we both collapse onto it we realise it feels like a slab of concrete. Not even our joint body weight seems to make a dent in the beast, and I immediately declare that I cannot and will not sleep on it – it must be returned!
So eventually we persuade the shop to take it back, and the kindly Malcolm invites me back in to try more mattresses. So in I go. Pocket sprung or memory foam…old school or modern day. The cool me wants the memory foam, the traditional me wants the springs. And as I am lying on the memory foam trying to weigh up the options, Malcolm comes and lies next to me. I would put him in his late fifties, and certainly not of the studly Clint Eastwood ilk. But he wants to chat – and I can’t help but think what an extraordinarily intimate moment this is. Some random old man, lying next to me, inches away, telling me his life story. I am horrified to hear that he still sleeps on a sofa bed but sells some of the most expensive beds in the country. His children are in the bedrooms and he and his wife are in the sitting room, on the sofa bed. All this, as we lie there, looking at the ceiling. It was a funny moment, one we will never have back ( I think thank God), especially as he swiftly moved on to which mattress would have more bounce….the moment of sadness passed to a moment of terror and near impending hysteria.
I left without choosing a mattress, simply because I felt that Malcolm and I reached another level today, and deciding on whether I should foam it or spring it felt a little bit irrelevant. I think I will let my husband decide.