If it’s over 8 it’s time to replace.
I don’t buy it, the mattress industry’s insistence that my bed will double in weight over that period of time because it is full of skin, sweat, and dust mites.
Oh, they got me thinking no doubt. After envisioning their claims, I sort of want to change my mattress as I change my underwear: daily. I wake up feeling the dust mites running across my ankles, my skin falling off as if I were a snake.
It wasn’t an advertisement though that motivated me to visit the Mattress Firm. It was my daughter. I moved DJ’s stuff to Stephanie’s smaller bedroom the week after my oldest left home for college. When she returned to Raleigh for the first time last fall, my older, taller kid nearly fell off her sister’s former cot. Her feet were entangled in the footboard, her butt was spilling off the sides.
An upgrade for her meant an upgrade for me! I’d flip and rotate my mattress and move my old bed upstairs. She’d be happy, and I’d be sleeping like a champ!
I sort of exceeded the 8 year limit. My dad gave Lisa and me a new bed as a wedding present in 1993. It was a good model.
I loved it. I might never had made a change had extenuating circumstances not propelled a move. You could make a Madame Tussaud wax figure of Danny Tanner from the imprint of my body on my Serta Sleeper. The knots of my elbows. The dimples of my fanny. The contour of my large triceps. So snuggly. I feel all tingly just thinking about it.
This was a big decision. I knew I wouldn’t buy another until 2038. I wanted to take my time, to consider the feel of each of my options. I dressed comfortably for my shopping trip: sweats, my favorite boxers and a holey t-shirt.
“Can I help you sir?” the sales guy asked. He had lots of hair and the suit I’d worn in high school.
“I’m looking for a mattress,” duh. “I’m just gonna try a few out.”
He stood up and escorted me to the Tempur-Pedic. I lay down.
“I can tell by your face you’re not a Tempur kinda man.” His disdain was obvious.
“It swallowed me like Jonah’s whale,” I pleaded. “It’s like I reentered the wound.”
He headed toward the back of the store where the cheaper beds were kept. His commission was getting smaller.
“Here, try this one.”
I lay on a stiffer model.
“Feels like the Beltline.”
He quickly moved to the next.
I wanted to take my time, to relax. To simulate a real night.
I curled up in a ball.
He explained the coils.
I turned to my stomach.
He shared that the cover was hand sewn right here in America.
I flipped on my back.
He expounded on the generous warranty. “It’s guaranteed for ten years.”
“Then why do I have to replace in eight?”
He didn’t have an answer.
With him watching me writhe around, I could not concentrate. I needed quiet.
“Sir, could you give me a minute? I need to relax.”
“Oh certainly.”
He backed up a step and stopped talking. Although he closed his mouth, I could feel his eyes zeroed in on me.
I’d stand to move to the next, and he’d rebegin the inquisition.
“How’d that feel? Was it comfortable? Too hard? Too soft? Just right?”
I looked around for the three bears.
Within 20 minutes I’d made my decision. Not necessarily because it was the right one, but because I was exhausted. I simply couldn’t get any rest in that place.
It is taking some adjustment to get used to my new digs. I miss my mite friends and the smell of dead skin. I no longer sink in. My body hovers over the springs, my neck now falls at a 45 degree angle on my pillow below. I’ve had a crick for two weeks.
And DJ, home from spring break? Oh, she’s sleeping like a champ.
The Real Fuller House 
Mom
/ March 24, 2016I think the reason you miss your dust mites is that they are your only pets. Maybe you could steal a few from Bailey’s bed until you get a new colony of them going. I like this post. it’s so “you”!
Aunt Susan
/ March 24, 2016I like your mom’s comment, I see where you get you! and you could try borrowing a cat.
(yeah I know the eldest is allergic, but she’s back at school)