I Was Mortified By What My Son Said

At his age, he should know better

In a relationship, when a man (and I suppose sometimes a woman) has done something offensive, the offender is often banned to spend the night on the couch. Or if the man (or the woman) has been out drinking and has had one or two too many, and has been known to snore under the influence of alcohol, the couch is the place where the drinker has to sober up.

I spend the night on the couch last night and it wasn’t because I did anything offending, or got drunk and as such was likely to disrupt anyone with my snoring. No, I spend the night on the couch because my bed broke.

One moment I was sitting propped up against two pillows and the next the bed gave a loud crack while part of it fell to the floor and I found myself lopsided.

My cats flew out of the room like bats out of hell while my son called from his room “What was that?!” “My bed broke,” I called back. After he asked if it was okay to come in, and I had assured him that it was, he came to inspect the damage, and, well, it was obvious that I could no longer sleep in that bed. If I had tried I would have rolled out. So, there was nothing to it but to sleep on the couch.

The couch is quite comfortable, but not the ideal place to spend the night, night after night. A new bed had to be purchased.

The bed and matching nightstands, vanity table, and chest of drawers are quite old. The furniture used to belong to my parents. When mom passed away and dad decided to move to a retirement home and subsequently also passed away, I decided to make their bedroom furniture my own. My bedroom was a few years old, and although theirs was older, it was a lot nicer. So the furniture came to me.

For years everything was okay, until last night when it suddenly wasn’t. All I can say is thank goodness that the cats weren’t under the bed at the time of the crash or I doubt they would have survived it.

This morning, bright and early, my son and I set off to buy a new bedroom. We entered a well-known store where one of the salesmen approaches us. I told him what I was looking for and he led us to a part of the store where bedroom suites were on display.

While I was inspecting a particular suite, my son was in conversation with the salesman.

“My mom’s bed collapsed last night,” I heard him say. “That’s why she’s looking for a new one.”

I was mortified. Why did he have to tell him that? What must this man think? That my bed saw that much action and with such ferocity that it actually broke and collapsed?

I noticed a couple nearby, also inspecting a bed, glancing at me. They had obviously overheard my son’s comment. I felt like they were thinking that it couldn’t be my weight that had caused the collapse because I only weigh in the region of 134 lbs (60 kg) so it had to be something else, something naughtier.

When I told the salesman I needed time to think about this purchase and would get back to him, he nodded with a smile. Probably thought the bed I had inspected wasn’t sturdy enough, I wanted something more solid, something up to the task of my nightly activities.

We went to another store and true as bob, my son told the saleswoman the same thing … that I was looking for a new bed because my old one had collapsed. When the manager joined the saleswoman, my son informed her too that my bed had broken. I turned to him, eyes shooting daggers. Did he have to tell this story to all and sundry? Why didn’t he put it in the newspaper?

Before we entered the third store, I told my son not to inform the person who would help us about my broken bed. He didn’t see the problem, why couldn’t he tell? Well, because a broken bed is embarrassing. What must people think? Did they wonder what went on in my bedroom that caused a bed to actually collapse? As far as I could remember, no bed in my family had ever broken.

My grandmother had her bedroom for years and it stayed intact until the day she moved to a retirement home. My parents only had two-bedroom suites during the course of their marriage. The first one was replaced because it was out of style, the second stayed in perfect condition until mom died and dad, as mentioned earlier moved to a retirement home. In fact, it was in such good condition that I retired my bedroom furniture in favor of theirs.

I was the first one in the family who found myself in a bed that collapsed. Why me? What did I do to cause this? Nothing I can assure you, but people have an imagination, and goodness knows what they think when they hear of a broken bed.