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  • I've made the bed many times. Today was the first time I thought about a talking mattress. How wonderful it would be if the handmade McCroskey ("Our Classic design is trusted by generations of loyal buyers, and enjoyed by every variety of sleeper.") could somehow recall the things it has seen and heard since we first slept on it in Brooklyn, New York in 1997.

    The lighter moments when we've shared a funny story and a laugh over something we just remembered that happened that day.

    The intimate moments, which have declined as we age along with our marriage.

    The usually mock indignation and expressions of disgust over noxious fumes emanating from the nether regions (usually mine).

    The many tears of sorrow before I finally sank into unconsciousness the days my father, and then my mother, died.

    The irritation over being woken up because snores (usually mine) have disturbed another's sleep.

    I would love to replay the conversation after I opened the video my daughter sent that announced the first grandchild who was forming in her belly. Lying in bed that night, I was repulsed by my unexpected reaction to the news. Instead of unbridled happiness, I felt only shock at first. I think it was the realization that, as a soon-to-be grandfather, I was probably next, or close to next in line to die. Up until that (selfish? narcissistic?) moment, my mortality had never been so sharply focused.

    The thankfully few tense now-what-are-we-going-to-do discussions after one of us lost a job.

    The losing battle to keep our newly rescued six month old Golden Retriever, Rosie, off the bed.

    The bouts of flu, and colds that were made easier by time spent on that mattress. The strep throat that brought a very sharp lecture from my doctor when I finally saw her after a night of uncontrollable hot flashes and shivering. "You have what killed Jim Henson! You have to realize that when you get sick, your compromised immune system means you are going to get very sick, very fast. This massive dose of antibiotics is going to make you feel sick, but it will save your life." Okay, holy shit. Thanks low IGG.

    Should we replace this 20+ year old mattress because she finds it very uncomfortable? Test drives on memory foam, stopping by the McCroskey show room while on a visit to San Francisco (your $2000 California King mattress and box spring now costs $6000, delivery not included), leads us to a Garnet Hill feather bed topper which seems to do the trick.

    As I made the bed this morning, I wondered if I will die on this mattress. If the miracle talking mattress could actually talk, it could probably tell my future. Perhaps a mute mattress isn't a bad thing after all.
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