On mattresses and life.

You know what happens at the age of thirty-five? Your mattress actually starts dictating your quality of life, that's what. And not in the "I'm single and in my twenties and [redacted in case anyone in my family reads this even though this is totally hypothetical]" kind of way. I mean in the "Oh, first it was my sore left shoulder, and then my sore left hip, and OH FOR THE LOVE NOW MY SORE RIGHT HIP EFFING CHRIST'S* SAKE" kind of way. I literally keep a round rubber dog toy wrapped in a sock on our bed so that I can roll my shoulder and hips around on it before sleep sometimes. It's totally sexy and not at all pathetic. Now I've gone and told you too much about my bedroom habits. Moving on.

Anyway. Professor Schmooblebottoms and I have had the same mattress since we first started dating way back in the Triassic Period (eleven years ago), and we've been talking about replacing it for a while now. But do you know how much mattresses cost?

This much. Unfortunately, I am a musicology graduate student, not a millionaire rapper. Yet.

It's not like we are completely struggling since Schmoobs has a good job with a nice salary. Still, it would be nice to be a fully two-income household so we can feel comfortable with the decision to buy a new mattress to help ease our aching and aging bodies, and also things like all the lipglosses and good smelling lotions at Target. You know. The essentials. Somebody remind me again how much I love what I do and about how this is all worth it?

* Sorry. I know it was your birthday yesterday. I'll try to watch my mouth.