Yesterday I went out for a long walk and ended up buying a bed.
I'm like that -- I get an idea into my head and I think about it and think about it, and then I'll find myself passing the appropriate outlet and -- boom. I think, well, now's as good a time as any. Let's do it.
The full mattress I have been sleeping on for the past 10 years was purchased lovingly, along with an antique rosewood frame, by my ex-husband to greet me upon my arrival in San Francisco.
But our apartment was small, and I had a perpetual bruise on my right thigh where I inevitably would hit the footboard as I rounded it.
I kept the bed after M. and I split, but it never seemed right. It really didn't seem right for anyone else but him to be in it with me. After I bought my place, I sold the frame to a sweet couple who had just moved here from Japan. The woman jumped up and down at the price: $25.
Lately, I've realized my mattress isn't that comfortable anymore. And, I'll admit, SOMEONE in this household had peed on it once or twice.
Since buying my place, I've set about trying to upgrade parts of my life to adult level. Buying a real bed, I thought, would be mature and therapeutic, not to mention symbolic.
So yesterday, as I took my 80-block walk (yes, you read that right; I'm not the old Stella), I found myself in front of Sleep Train on Geary. In I went, told salesman Dane what I wanted, and Bob's your Uncle (what the hell does that mean?), I am awaiting the delivery of a California king-size Simmons Beautyrest set with drawers built into the boxspring.
Yep, the biggest-ass bed I could find. I cleaned out my bedroom this morning in preparation.
Dane even threw in a magic mattress cover that doesn't allow liquid to reach the mattress. Take that, cats!
(As an aside, what's the deal with there being two king sizes -- Eastern and California? Ours is longer, either demonstrating that we grow 'em big out here -- or that we simply are more decadent.)