I like to be early to things. It gives me great pains to be late. I sweat, my breathing speeds up, I imagine all the faces turning to look at mine as I enter a room, each one more disappointed than the last. I so hate to be late. Husband likes to say that if I have an appointment at 3pm, I will leave the house at 10am. He’s exaggerating of course – but not by much.
On Monday, I showed up for my first day with a new family at 7:10am. I waited in my car until 7:20am, got out, locked up the car and walked to the door, knocking at 7:25am – a respectable 5 minutes early.
Or so I thought.
The mom opened the door in her bathrobe, totally surprised to see me. The dad, in his pajamas looked equally confused. Not because I was 5 minutes early but because I was a full 5 minutes and FOUR DAYS EARLY!
Yup. Husband is never going to let me live this one down.
And speaking of Husband, I know I rag on him all the time. He’s weird about food and apparently can’t have anything but the damn beige bedding we’ve had for-freaking-ever and his path to logic is not always a straight one. BUT he’s a wicked talented guy and not just with music. (Or in the bedroom, he’d have me say.) The dude can make things and make them look good. That damn OCD is good for the fine details, that's for sure.
Anyway, on our anniversary three years ago, we bought a new mattress. It wasn’t a planned purchase. No, we wanted to go to Trader Joe’s and the only parking spots available were in front of the mattress store that shares the parking lot. So, we did the fake out park. You know, walk in, pretend to look, say we’ll think about it and then walk into Trader Joe’s. But we failed so miserably that we ended up buying a king sized mattress. We suck at the fake out park.
Worse than that, the mattress turned out to be horrible. Not so bad we felt we needed to do something about it until long after the 100-day test had passed. We did manage to get the box springs replaced once before the warranty expired but that only seemed to work until the deadline was come and gone. It’s like there was a timer on the dang thing and as soon as the warranty expired, it sagged and poked and was generally an evil torture device designed to make us angry all the time. And while we’re heavier than we should be, we’re not ‘break the mattress’ fat. We needed a new mattress but I didn’t want to go through that drama when I was still hurting from the first failure. I mean I’m still wearing the same damn bras because I can’t be bothered trying and failing with a new one. Husband said we didn’t need a new mattress that it was the box springs that sucked so he set about fixing the problem. Unlike me, he wasn’t going to just complain or purchase a new mattress just to be disappointed, nope. Husband was going to build a bed.
And not like buy the parts off the Internet and build a bed. Nope, Husband bought plywood, cut plywood, glued plywood to make it extra thick, cut, drilled whatever else and put together this beauty of a bed that is wicked comfortable.
Like, slept like a baby kangaroo in a pouch cozy. Like, when I roll over or my leg circus comes to town, he can’t feel me dancing on my side comfortable. Like, there’s no mountain in the middle with large valleys on each side that I have to climb to kiss him goodnight snug. Like, Husband was right. Again.
It’s getting to be a habit with him.
My name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me