Mr. Gorbachev, Tear Down This Wall!

There comes a time in every boy's life where they have to become a man, which invariably means taking down their loft bed. It was a good run, loft bed, but we both knew this time would come.


So I walked into Sleepy's and talked to the morbidly obese salesman I always see when I walk by the store on the way home from work. The guy looks like he could have a life-ending heart attack at any second. I walked in and said, "Yo, Holmes. I understand you have a sale on some dem pillow tops," and he said, "Oh, I have some you're just going to fall in love with."


He takes me to this crazy thing that looks like it was constructed from clouds, dreams, and sunshine. The top was made with lamb's wool, that apparently doesn't hold heat. He demonstrated this to me by rubbing on it quickly and noting that it cooled instantly. The coils were pocketed, the springs varied in size and shape and "springiness," which meant that it provided a better night's sleep. It was big, and bold, and sang lullabies to children, and told bed-time stories. This was the bed to end all beds, it was based on the same design as mattresses used in the finest hotels. Kings and diplomats had slept on this mattress, and even in their jaded worlds full of extravagance they awoke to exclaim, "That bed was fucking awesome."

It was also crazy expensive.

We moved on to two other beds. Both pillow top, both less fancy, but pretty much equal in comfort. There was no lamb's wool, they didn't cure cancer upon contact, or let you see the future, but they were both crazy comfortable. One was really pillow-y, the other was somewhat less pillow-y--I went with the really pillow-y, because I am one decedent decadent man.

So here it is, my new mattress set. Was it worth it?


You bet your ass it was.