Hayter for Feb 12, 2023
Attack of the King
Size Bed”
I have gotten myself into some really tight places, but nothing like last night. While trying to repair the motor on our adjustable twin king-size bed, I ended up sideways on the floor between the headboard and the box springs. I didn’t even know it was possible.
My awkward wedged position apparently didn’t look all that frightening to Kay. She was checking on my progress by standing by the side of the bed, asking, “Darling, do you want me to try the remote control now?”
My situation started with the remote control. After 12 years of operating perfectly, the bed-frame refused to follow the orders from the remote. The batteries were practically new, but the head of the bed refused to budge.
Being the eager one, Kay was all ready for the head part of the mattress to start going up. Had it, I could have been severed from sternum to gall bladder. All the while, my shoulder was pressing against the floor and my right jaw was being dislocated by my elbow.
What to do? I could ask Kay to get Michael, our next-door neighbor who is good with computers. I thought someone technical would be just the person I needed. Or, perhaps Kay could call 911 and tell them that her husband needed one of those jaws-of-life things.”
Both scenarios came with a price. -- Embarrassment. -- I assure you that Michael would laugh his rear off before trying to help. The jaws of death guy would first take a picture of me, and give the excuse, “Sir, the photo will help me write my report.”
I seldom ask for help until I’ve considered all other options. Kay is much smarter than I am, but it takes her too long to plan things. It takes me two seconds, tops. So, what could I possibly do to a bed that had me wedged between the headboard and box springs? Where are Laurel and Hardy when you need them?
The bed that tried to kill me was the second bed Kay and I ever bought. Our first bed was Kay’s bed. After marriage, we hauled it to our unfurnished apartment. I told Uncle Ray that the bed came with his daughter. His response was, “Hey, how about taking Tracy too?” I loved my father-in-law.
Kay and I slept on her bed for a couple of decades before moving it to the guest room of our next house. We swapped it out with a brand new Queen Size bed. And mattress. Our first new mattress! A great bed, the Queen. Right now it’s in our guest room. So, if you ever have to spend the night, it’s the bed you’ll be sleeping on. Fortunately, we were very careful with our mattresses. Kept it clean and cootie-proof. We didn’t want to freak out any overnight visitors. Not all of ‘em, anyway.
It was 12 years ago when we bought the adjustable bed that tried to kill me. While I hope to die in that bed, I didn’t want to die because of the bed. Who would?
By the way, we gave Kay’s old bed away. I don’t remember who the recipient was. That’s the way I prefer it. Whoever it was, likely gave it to someone else who is sleeping on a 65-year-old mattress. A good mattress will last that long if not abused. It seems I read that somewhere.
While all of this has been fascinating stuff, let’s go back to me being trapped in the fearful under-workings of the giant bed. All I was trying to do was to check the doohickies that make the bed frame raise and lower. Perhaps there was a loose wire or a throw switch. Shirly, no one would think to put an emergency switch on the bottom of the bed frame. I mean “Surely
The only thing working in my favor during the horrible ordeal was the fact that Kay had dust mopped the floor beneath the bed before I got wedged. Other than that it was “Death on the Tile”… I mean Vinyl Plank.
How long was I trapped? I don’t know, during tragedy, time doesn’t flow normally. What I remember was Kay asking if I wanted any popcorn. I said, “Thanks, darling, but I fear I’ll make a mess down here.”
Eventually, after discounting every escape scenario I said a prayer. “Father, please don’t let it end like this. When my time comes, let me be either while I’m sleeping or saving someone in a bad situation in a place easy to get to.” I’ve always believed that if God didn’t have a sense of humor, He would’ve dismissed me long ago.
In answer to my prayer, I was able to locate my left foot, a fete that helped me find my right. It was just like they belonged together. As soon as both walking appendages were in place, I thought it a good time to stand and extract myself from the non-adjustable behemoth. Then with all my strength I gave a mighty tug, then Kay yelled out, “Don’t mess up the rug!” (To be read to the tune of Big John)
I’ll never know how I came out of that trap with my nose in place. In fact, I wasn’t all that messed up. The bed? Well, it’s pretty much in the same location. Kay asked me if I was ready to call the adjustable bed repair-person.
I said, “No, sweet pea, it’s your turn. You always do better on the really tough jobs. – Before I put this episode to sleep, let me ask that you email me if you know a reclining bed repairman. I’ll give the info to Kay. She’ll know what to do with it. – That’s it. Move along people. Nothing to see here. Until next time.
end
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