We’re currently mattress shopping. Unlike furniture shopping, mattress shopping has been something I insist on being sober for, less I end up with a waterbed.

Truthfully, I’d be ok with a set of bunk beds, as I have a growing desire to not be touched while I sleep. In the old days, that may stem from the fact that I have no control over my body when I sleep, so if Andy would caress my tummy, I would be unprepared and un-sucked in. Now, I’m just hot and over-exhausted and would like to not have shit rub up on me. In fact, if I wasn’t paranoid about intruders, I’d buy one of those eye masks and noise canceling headphones, because sleeping next to Andy is a chorus of irreconcilable differences.

Please stop snoring.

Please stop chewing in your sleep.

Please stop touching me with your toenails.

I assume I’d be just annoying to sleep beside, should I ever be afforded the luxury of R.E.M.

We currently find ourselves on the queen size bed I have had for almost ten years. A lot of things have happened on this bed, including but not limited to, my water breaking and a college bong water accident. I like to pretend it’s probably not full of mold, and the tiny bites on my leg are from the eye bag fairies who visit me each night.

Mattresses are shockingly expensive. Like, if you asked me how much a mattress cost, I would assume it would be around the price of a full body tattoo, which I don’t even entirely know the exact price of, it probably depends on what you decide to get. I think, as a rule, dragons, Elvis and John Lennon quotes cost more, that’s the market for ya.

Since our primary mattress complaint is lack of room, we have decided to upgrade to a king size, which seems to baseline around six full body tattoos. We’ve gone around to a few mattress stores, and while the option to bounce on it and not spill a wine glass is cool, I kinda just want a normal pillow top mattress that’s not full of black mold and doesn’t require a remote I’ll probably lose.

This one here is a pillow top California King.


I can leave you two alone, a lot of couples like to practice spooning or whatnot on the beds, to get a feel for them.

Well, that’s not very realistic. How about Andy and I lay on it, and you and, like, four more associates come lay on it with us so I can see if I have enough personal space.


Grab that little guy back there, the one who looks like a chubby Hawaiian baby.

Andy and I went to dinner empty handed. We get gun-shy when we have to spend a lot of money on something. Over shrimp curry, I decided to once again float the idea by him of separate beds, like Lucy and Ricky. I know it sounds bad, a happily married couple sleeping in separate beds, but the things is, while I adore every inch of him awake, I’m starting to hate his guts asleep, and I’m running out of options. Maybe this is why Edward Cullen is appealing? I can sleep, and he’ll just lay there watching me all creepy like, and when I wake up and ask if I drooled or snored, he’d lie to me and then we’d do it. It’s the perfect arrangement, that whole book makes sense now.

But, Andy hates the idea of separate beds. His parents slept not only in separate beds, but on entirely different floors, so he has this picture in his head of us pillow talking it up until we fall asleep in each other’s arms. But, the reality of the situation is, we lay in bed fighting over who didn’t put the Chinese food in the fridge, and then he falls asleep and I plot his demise for the next six hours.

I read in an interview that Helena Bonham Carter and Tim Burton are very much in love, but live in two adjoining houses. Now, I love Helena. I have this thing for maniacally brilliant women who devour ugly roles. Anyone can be pretty, Helena, while stunning, is dark and addictive. She’s my spirit animal.

I remember reading about the Helena and Tim living arrangement and thinking, genius! Here you have two creative people who adore each other enough to allow themselves to both live together…and apart. That is the answer.

Two homes joined together by those hotel room doors that you never open because on the other side, people are having sex or cutting coke.

It will take a lot of sweet talking Andy, but maybe he’d go for it if I promise him he can fill his side with shiny black leather couches and a coffee table that is really a fishbowl filled with piranha?

It’d be like living with 80’s Don Johnson, but it’d be worth it for a solid night’s sleep and Bill Murray mural in my bathroom.

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