a day of miracles (lyn)

My parent’s home is beautiful.  It is open, colorful, tastefully decorated, and has a youthful feel.  Freshly cut flowers are a common sight downstairs, where my mom and dad spend most of their time.  Upstairs are three guest bedrooms that have not gotten the same attention as the downstairs.  These rooms are used only in July, August and Thanksgiving, when me and my sisters (and our families) visit. 

While we generally are good guests, my sisters and I have all complained in recent years about the quality of our sleep when visiting.  Not that we mean to be ungrateful, but the mattresses have been deteriorating for years.  

My first night here is miserable.  My mattress literally squeaks, and its dips and valleys awake me at every turn.  The next morning my mom asks, “How did you sleep?”  “You have to get a new mattress,” I respond. To my astonishment, my mom immediately agrees.

I spend the next few hours researching.  It is overwhelming and unproductive.  Prices start low and go as high as $59,750 (for the Vividus by Hastens).  There is just too much uninteresting information about coils and latex and memory foam to keep me focused on the research.

My sister Jean arrives around five, and by six we are on our way to Hyannis to Bernie and Phyl’s, a local furniture store with ads featuring Bernie and Phyl.  Despite their “Hi, I’m Bernie and I’m Phyl” folksy ads, the store is nice, and our sales girl, Melissa, is knowledgeable and helpful.  My sister and I try out several mattresses.  We lie next to each other and mimic sleeping. We feel compelled to tell Melissa we are not a couple.  She doesn’t care. 

Miraculously, my sister and I choose the same mattress as our first choice.  It’s hotel-level quality, firm but not hard.  

We call my mother and tell her we want two.  Another miracle.  Without any argument at all, she says okay.

The mattresses and box springs are being delivered tomorrow. We ask if they can be delivered tonight but unfortunately that miracle cannot be fulfilled.