It's Not the Monster Under the Bed

There are some things in life that one doesn't expect or imagine will happen. Freaky things, mortifying things. Wardrobe malfunctions. Faceplants. Total oops-moments. Last night was one such occasion. And seriously, I didn't make it up. I wouldn't want to.

There has been an ongoing saga with washing machines since I moved into this house. The outgoing hose was plugged into the wrong hole. (using the wrong hole is always a bad thing.) Then I had a washing machine death. A washing machine replacement, which required a hose replacement. It's a long and boring story, the point being that for the first time in a month, I was able to wash my sheets at home yesterday.

However, sheet removal led to the discovery that my mattress was severely sagging in the middle. Really, really sagging. And here I thought Pretty Piggy Princess Puppy had lost weight. I decided that the mattress just needed to be flipped. A feat that I attempted on my own. With a king-sized mattress. I tugged, I lifted, I pulled. Said mattress was halfway off when I made a worrisome discovery. The box springs were also sagging. Which meant that the actual bed frame was broken. At this point I have seriously started to consider that there is a poltergeist in my house with a really twisted sense of humor. I had neither the energy nor the time to get to the bottom of this little debacle so I shoved the mattress back in place and left for the evening.

Later, much later in the evening, I relayed my sad little tale to some friends. Some pretty awesome friends because they offered to come home with me and put my bed back together. At midnight. How great is that? What wonderful friends I have!!

We all traipse into my room, pull of the mattress, the box springs and there are all of my boots that I shove under there, a couple of random pieces of paper, a lone sock and a book. Which everyone saw and noticed and joked about. Ha ha ha. And then I froze. I panicked. Quietly. Because also, under my bed, next to my nightstand, is Tom. Yes, Tom is my vibrator. I didn't name him, he came that way. For once I was grateful for having dogs to hide things from because he was safely put away in his nondescript white box. But I knew he was there. In plain sight. Next to him was a bag of other fun, assorted goodies in a not-so-nondescript bag. Oh shit.

Upon inspection, it was discovered that the "foot" of the bed frame had broken off and wasn't reattaching in a very safe, secure way. "Do you have any two-by-fours?" Um, no. Because I've never thought of any situation in which a two-by-four would improve my life. I just don't keep them on hand. Because there were two English teachers in my room, one of them asked if I have any books I don't really care about anymore. Yes! I had a bag in the garage that I was planning on taking to the used bookstore. They were promptly used to fortify the bottom of the frame until someone else who actually has two-by-fours can bring them in for stronger fortification.

MG was concerned about another part of the frame and asked if I had any high heels that could be used. Excuse me??? "No!! Shoes are NOT construction materials." As if. And THEN, I watched in horror as I saw him reach for Tom's nondescript box cover. Noooooooo!!!!! As casually as I could, I reached over MG and removed the box from his grasp, hoping I really looked casual and that I wasn't actually using my inside-my-head voice in an inappropriate manner and that I wouldn't really knock him across the room trying to get to Tom before he did.

All turned out to be well, everything was put back in its proper place, some jokes were made about how I can now only have "subdued" sex in my bed. Missionary-style only, little movement, ha ha ha.

This morning MC remarked how funny it all was. "Isn't it funny how you had two married men and me in your bedroom at midnight?" Oh, but she didn't know the half of it. But now she does. And so do you.