 However, it wasn't long before my husband's 185-pound frame turned
into one of a linebacker. The combination of his weight gain, his
restless sleeping habits and our free-flow waterbed caused me to
feel as if I were a small ship on a stormy sea.When our waterbed
finally bit the dust (a whole 'nuther story -- read my book), we
decided that we'd get an ordinary mattress and box spring. That
seemed to work well for a while, and seasickness was no longer an
issue for me.
In time, our new mattress began to sag. No matter how neatly the
bed was made or how thick the blankets were, you could still
identify exactly where we slept, and if you looked close enough, you
could make out our favorite sleeping positions.
As far as I was concerned, that was too much information for the
casual observer. Thinking back, my logic was not all that clear on
this because it was rare that any observer, casual or otherwise,
would be invited to our bedroom unless we'd just put down new
carpet, painted the walls or installed matching furniture. That's
the kind of stuff you have to show off.
However, even if casual observers were few and far between, I
still had to look at the massive divots in our mattress. It only
served to remind me that my diet wasn't working.
My husband and I don't tend to sleep right next to each other,
spoon-style, because he says he gets too warm. I never understood
how he could possibly get too warm with a block of ice (me)
plastered up against him. Like so many other things about men in
general, that just doesn't make sense.
Anyway, because of our tendency to sleep apart, our mattress
looked like the rolling hills of Kentucky. After a while, it became
very difficult to climb the hill between us, so it was much easier
to snuggle into our separate valleys and stop wondering what was on
the other side of the hill.
About five years ago, we decided not to let that hill come
between us any longer. If we couldn't climb the mountain, then we
would simply park our bodies on a different piece of real estate.
[to top of second column]
 |
 Enter the newest craze in sleeping comfort: the memory foam
mattress. We bought it in May and loved it from the very start. I
have never had the opportunity to test the commercials where they
place a glass of wine on one corner of the bed and jump up and down
in the middle. First of all, I would never put anything liquid on my
bed; that is what side tables are for. Secondly, I can't think of an
occasion that would require performing that particular stunt.
Thirdly, if I were to jump up and down on my bed, I would cause
serious injury to myself, my bed and the floor joists, whether the
wine spilled or not. I mean, there is a ceiling fan above my bed.
How do you explain that scenario to an emergency room doctor?
"I got my head stuck in the ceiling fan because I was jumping on
the bed -- please don't ask me why."
We enjoyed that bed all summer. Then it got cold. Apparently when
memory foam gets cold, its memory becomes -- oh, how shall I put
this? -- HARD AS GRANITE!
When I crawl into bed at night I feel like I'm lying on a stone
altar, waiting to be sacrificed to some pagan god. Sure, when my
body warms the stone mattress, it becomes soft right where I'm
lying, but anywhere else it's still stiff as a board.
This effect creates those same rather nostalgic hills and valleys
we used to loathe in our last mattress. Fortunately, when the warmer
weather returns, the memory foam starts remembering again. It
remembers why we bought it and becomes the bed of our dreams again.
In a way, you could say that our mattress has weather-related
Alzheimer's disease. If we were truly a friend to it, we would
consider moving it to a warmer climate.
[By LAURA SNYDER]
You can reach the writer at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
Or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more columns and info about her books.
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