“Bedded” the Sequel

When you can’t let sleeping dogs lie

I’ll bet you’re wondering what I meant by that cryptic subtitle. It was my not-so-clever way of saying that there are instances in life when “getting your way” is non-negotiable.

As Sally Albright says in When Harry Met Sally, “I like things how I like them.”

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been hampered by that buzzy personality quirk known as “buyer’s remorse.” Whether it be a haircut, a Hefty-size bag of Persian cucumbers, or a bigger ticket item, I can’t seem to get it right the first go-round.

I rarely like the haircut, the cukes shrivel up like most Republicans’ weenies, and I’m flummoxed by the big stuff. “Did I pay too much or too little, and what the hell was I thinking?”

Recently, I wrote a story about my hunt for a new mattress and foundation to replace our old, worn-out set. For weeks, I was stressing out about this long overdue endeavor because I knew my sleep-deprived husband would benefit from a new set-up, but I was just too fucking cheap. (Along with beauty products, I’m a bit of a money hoarder. Chalk it up to aging.) Also, I knew from experience that it would be a convoluted process as I over-think damn near everything.

But, that said, given that buying a bed these days is akin to purchasing a car, albeit a used one, I wanted to take my time and choose properly.

Did I do that? What do you think? Take a wild guess, folks. I visited one of the top mattress joints in our area and settled on the first “ride” the salesman suggested. The Cadillac of beds: Tempur-Pedic, a cooling, firming, orgasm-inducing mattress with an adjustable base, so that you can elevate your feet, your legs, experience “zero gravity,” swing from the ceiling fan and execute backflips like Olga Korbut.

Let me tell you how much I hate this bed. I hate looking at it, lying on it, inhaling the chemical smell that wafts from it…damn near everything about it is repugnant to me.

Now, Tempur-Pedic lovers, please don’t be offended as this is a very personal thing, albeit, with me, it’s always a “weird” thing. As is frequently the case with sex, for example. Some people like to be on top, others on the bottom, and still others, prefer to be in another room, entirely.

Also, the mattress isn’t as deep as our old one, making it lower to the ground. More suitable to say, a Peter Dinklage, than me. I realize how un-PC that sounds, but he’s a cool little dude as well as an amazing talent and were he to see this, which is highly unlikely, I believe he would take my lame comment in stride.

As I stated in my previous story, I prefer a higher bed, so I exchanged it for a “firm, yet plush,” Stearns & Foster, which we’re expecting at the end of the week.

As for the adjustable base, I’d like to toss it in the street and watch a semi flatten it. Nah. That’s a little harsh. Let’s just say it’s not me. Plus, there’s a large metal, U-shaped anchor at the end of the bed that makes it nearly impossible to secure the sheets. Speaking of, when the base is elevated, the sheets end up in a bunch as they slide off the mattress. And the mattress itself slides around on the base, which led me to purchase a Gorilla Mattress Gripper Pad on my beloved Amazon.

So that you don’t think I’m being selfish, my husband feels the same way I do, although he’s a bit more forgiving of the base than I am. But, he’s a good man and always puts up with my many quirks, and assured me that, whatever I want to do is fine with him.

After ruminating about the damn thing for a couple of days, I pulled out my invoice and looked over all the bits that the dude had highlighted in bright yellow during our conversation. I wasn’t paying much attention at the time as I just wanted to get the job done, already. Tired and stressed, I was eager to go home and tell my hubby that he was getting a marvelous new bed! Finally! And a “Cadillac,” to boot!

Then, one of the neon highlights jumped out at me. “Tempur-Pedic adjustable base, no returns.”

Shit. What a kick in the teeth. What happened to “customer satisfaction?” And what happened to my common sense that I didn’t take this into account?

Because the guy never verbalized it to me. Never once in his long pitch, did he tell me that this expensive piece of equipment was non-returnable.

Late that afternoon, after a couple of glasses of wine, I called the store and gave the salesman “what for.” Because the more I thought about his neglecting to mention that key bit of information, the hotter I got. Also, I was none-too-pleased about the extra $300-plus we’d have to pay to “make things right.” I can understand the added delivery fee, but, over $200 for processing? What’s that? A couple of keystrokes on the computer?

Pay attention, guys, because I don’t want you to have to endure the same aggravation should you be in need of a new bed.

I didn’t exactly rip the guy a new one, but I did voice my displeasure regarding the adjustable base. After asking why he never mentioned it to me, he responded, “I highlighted it.”

I’d like to highlight his ass with a blowtorch, but I’m stuck, and knowing when to admit defeat is the first step in moving on.

So, I called the same store, but another location so I wouldn’t have to deal with the “highlighter,” and ordered an S&F foundation to replace the adjustable bed that will reside in our garage until I can sell it, and never have to look at it, again.

As it stands, the foundation is out of stock, and won’t be available for delivery until June 2nd. On the bright side, that would imply it’s popular, so goody for that.

Finally, I’m going to try very hard not to think about the financial ramifications of this fuck-up — the bed, the base, the mattress protector, the pillows, the shitty bamboo sheets, the processing fee, and new delivery charge, PLUS the cost of a new foundation — or I’ll probably drink too much and do something very, very untoward.

So, I’ll just suck it up and remind myself that, by June 3rd when I finally “get things how I like them,” all will be right with the world, again.

Or, as “right” as things can ever be these days.

Many thanks to my friend, the uber-sexed-up, Ricky Raccoon, for inspiring the title of this story.

© Sherry McGuinn, 2021. All Rights Reserved.

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s soon-to-be-ex-manager is currently NOT pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

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