After fourteen years of sleeping on a queen-sized stone slab my wife and I decided it was time for a new bedroom. The negotiations over the size of the bed and décor of the room began before we even got to the mall. I suggested a king-sized bed, she wanted to stay with the queen, however after I pointed out that I wouldn’t be laying on top of her if we got the king-sized bed, she gave in—I think her reason for caving in on this issue were purely self-centered.
After choosing a huge medium firm, pillow-top perfect sleeper kind of mattress we moved on to the frame and headboard. I had my eye on a majestic, black wrought iron piece with enough bars to fashion a jail cell, she wanted to go with the solid wood headboard so that she could read in bed without hurting her back. The one I wanted would leave marks, she said. I wasn’t sure if she meant on her back, the wall or her wrists but the issue was non-negotiable.
We then went to the bedding department where I found a cool set of NFL sheets and bedspread. They wouldn’t fit a King sized bed and my suggestion to purchase two sets and sew them together was shot down faster than my idea for a mirror on the ceiling. We decided on a matching set of taupe sheets and pillowcases with an ecru comforter—they all look kind of brown to me. Also, could someone please tell me the purpose of curtains around the bottom of the bed? Is it to make it easier to hide under the bed or to just be fancy?
Next it was decided that we would get a new painting for the wall after my flat-screen TV proposal was nixed but that was okay, we already have one TV in the bedroom and I had my eye on a painting that I had been wanting for as long as I could remember. A painting of a cottage next to a babbling brook was selected over my vehement protests that the dogs playing poker would add much more character to the room.
Determined to have my way, I drug the missus down to Sears and pointed to a small, dorm-sized refrigerator. “We can put beer, lunchmeat and ketchup in there and never have to go downstairs for a midnight snack,” I declared. We now have a wooden chest full of blankets at the foot of the bed.
Well, at least I still have my man-garage, and the air mattress isn’t as uncomfortable as it looks. I also have a potbelly stove, a TV and a refrigerator out there. I can’t wait for it to get cold; after all, what woman can resist a warm cozy fire, a classic movie and a can of beer?