The Quest for the Perfect Night’s Sleep

Okay, I will admit it.  I am ridiculously particular when it comes to my bed.  In an earlier post I talked about making my bed  https://gstoutimore.wordpress.com/2012/12/, and I can tell you that nothing has changed about my obsession with an unwrinkled surface on which to lay my head at the end of a hard day. 

Except I think the obsession is worse than ever.

It started a little over a year ago after I received a tax refund.  I don’t easily spend large sums of money.  I prefer to let it slip through my fingers in small insignificant sums that are hard to track and end up in the age-old question, “Jeeze…Where did all that money go, anyway?”

At any rate, when my refund check arrived, I decided to break tradition and spend the entire wad on a new mattress.  My old one was over fifteen years old, and had a trench several inches deep in the center.  In the morning, I would wake stiff and sore, and spend the next hour stretching and cussing out the matted stuffing that had obviously seen better days.

The weekend after making THE DECISION, my search began.  I surfed the internet, reading reviews, making price comparisons and otherwise schooling myself in the ways of the mattress.  Memory foam sounded the most comfortable, but the reviews said it gets hot. 

“Hot” and “menopausal woman” should never exist in the same room, unless it is a description of the woman and not her temperature, which at my age is more fantasy than reality.

I decided to speak to some real-life sales people someone who knew mattresses like a Ford salesman knows cars, and headed for one of the several mattress stores in town.

 “I’m looking for a new mattress,” I said, after entering the display room.

“Um…sure… try out anything in the store and let me know what you want,” responded the salesman, who was busy sending a text on his smartphone.

I scanned the room, trying to compare the mattresses. They all looked pretty much the same. 

“Thank you for your time,” I called out as I exited. The salesman never looked up from his smartphone.

A few days later, my son and I were in a large department store and I wandered to the mattress department.  Before I had time to read the sale signs, I heard a voice from behind me, “Zat one eeze on sale.”

The speaker was a slender woman with faded blond hair and a strong German accent.  She swayed a bit and leaned against the bed frame.  “Lie down on eet and try eet out,” she coaxed.

I couldn’t tell if she was slurring, or if it was just her accent, but I carefully perched on the edge of the mattress she was pointing to.

“Eet is a special combination of memory foam injected with gel that keeps you cool,” she cooed.

She was definitely slurring.

 “Try lying down on eet.”

A bed that keeps you cool.  I thought I heard angels singing the “Halleluia”chorus from The Messiah.

I gingerly stretched out on the bed. 

Heaven on steroids.

The slurring woman knew her stuff.  She explained how the mattress was made. She told me about its warranty.  She knew the regular price and the sale price.  She explained that if something were to go wrong with the mattress, I did not need to call the manufacturer because the big department store would make good on the warranty.  She staggered to her desk and I followed, and in a few moments the deal was done.

A few weeks later my bed was delivered by two men who carefully put booties over their shoes before entering my apartment, and every night  since then, I sink into my bed and sigh, “God, I love this bed!  Bless the slurring staggering German lady!” before falling asleep.

But with everything in life, there is a catch.  My favorite sheets are wearing thin.  I thought it would be easy to find new ones.  Little did I know that my specifications were so difficult to meet.

They cannot have deep pockets.  Most new contour sheets are for mattresses that are at least fifteen inches thick.  The slurring lady didn’t mention this when she sold me a mattress that is nine inches thick.  When I put deep pocket sheets on my mattress they do not stay smooth, and to me, sleeping in a wrinkled bed is like sleeping on rocks.  I would never claim to be a princess, but I do suspect that I would feel a pea if one was put under my mattress.

They have to be all cotton percale, 280 thread count.  When I was a child, all my mother’s sheets met these specifications. They lasted forever.  They smelled like fresh air. They felt cool and smooth against my skin.  Apparently, more people have taken to sateen, or Egyptian cotton, or (ugh!) microfiber (what kind of mini fibers is microfiber made of, anyway?)

They have to be white.  When I was a kid we always had white sheets, and I longed for printed sheets like those my friends had on their beds.  But now I know that my mother knew.  White sheets are like fresh snow- cool, serene, smooth.  For me there is nothing that smells better than white sheets dried outside in the cold winter wind.

Alas, such sheets are evasive, and as my search for the perfect sleep continues, and I’m open to suggestions.  In the meantime, I still bless the slurring German lady, because God, I love my bed.

Posted by Garrie Madison Stoutimore on December 30, 2013

https://gstoutimore.wordpress.com/2013/12/30/the-quest-for-the-perfect-nights-sleep/