At what point does a person realize that it is probably time to buy a new mattress? When the old one looks like a large serving bowl? When you need the assistance of several large men to get you out of bed? When you sleep too close to the edge of the mattress and you slide off like hot cheese off of an extra-large pizza? At my house, it’s time to get a new mattress when the wife says it’s time.

“Honey,” she said the other day, “it’s a lovely sunny day. Why don’t we go for a drive? I’ll drive so you can enjoy the scenery.”

“That sounds like a great idea. We’ve been cooped up in the house too long with these colder temps. A ride on this beautiful day sounds delightful.”

So we donned our winter coats, hats, and scarves and headed out the door.

“Why are we taking the interstate?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it be nicer to take some country roads and take in some of the heartland?

“Oh, we will later. This way is just faster.”

A few minutes later… “Why are we pulling up to this store? Why does it say, ‘Sleep on Us’? Why are all the salespersons wearing pajamas and staring out the window? What do you have up your sleeve, Dear?”

“We’re going to just look at a couple of new mattresses, just to see what’s out there.” she said nonchalantly.

“Why? What’s wrong with our mattress? I like our mattress. I have created quite an impression on it that I fit into quite comfortably.” I said.

“Well, I think we need a new mattress. Ours is probably over fifteen years old and…well, you move.”

“What do you mean I move?”

“You move when you sleep. You’re a rotisserie sleeper. You roll over and over. It creates a tsunami effect that overtakes me and wakes me up.”

“But at our age, that’s how you know I’m still alive. If I don’t move, you’d be sleeping with a dead guy.”

“At least maybe I would get a solid eight hours sleep. What I’m saying is that they have mattresses now that have little to no transfer of motion. You can set a wine glass full of Merlot on the bed, jump up and down on the other side and the glass wouldn’t move one bit.”

“Do they furnish the wine or do we bring our own?” I asked. “I have an idea, why don’t we just go to a winery now that I have a hankering for some Merlot. And a charcuterie board would be nice with those cute little sausages…”

For the next four hours we drove to six different mattress stores and lay on bed, after bed, after bed. And each time the test was the same. The wife would lie on the bed facing out. I would slither onto the bed to see if she could feel it. Then I would have to roll over several times to recreate the tsunami effect. Then she would say, “Nope,” and it was off to the next bed.

After 37 beds (without a single glass of wine I might add) we still hadn’t found one to suit her.

“This is like being married to the Princess and the Pea,” I said. “You have two choices, I can either go into a coma and not move, or I can sleep in another room.”

“Let’s just try this last one,” the wife said. “It’s a hybrid that has great reviews. It has both individually wrapped springs and several layers of memory foam, a cooling cover, and the best part—an ejection button.”

“You have finally found the perfect bed, haven’t you? Put a glass of wine on it. You jump and I’ll drink.”

Raul Ascunce is a freelance columnist for the Sentinel-Tribune. He may be contacted at [email protected].