Friday when I got home from my knitting group there was a message from the mattress company informing me that the window for my mattress delivery was 7-10am Saturday.
7 am. Great.
That means big burly men will be arriving to take away my old bed while I am, more than likely, still in it.
Maybe they could just roll me over onto the new one and slide the old one away?
What about the stuff stored under the bed?
Would meeting them at the door in my Pj’s be so bad? It would make it so much easier- I could just get right into the new one and pick up where I left off when I was cruelly awakened…
When will you be taking the headboard off the old frame then? Please don’t tell me you actually think it’s safe to use a drill before you have had coffee? or put your contacts in?
When was the last time you cleaned under the bed? Aren’t you ashamed to let anyone see those mammoth sized dust balls? Do you think they are going to stand by patiently, holding the new mattress, while you sweep where the old one was?
I can just get up really early and do all of that.
Because you’ve recently revised your opinion that the alarm is just a suggestion of a good time to get up?
I did not spend the rest of my Friday evening wallowing on the sofa in front of the TV. I did not work on the pair of mitts that just needed a few thumb rows to finish. I did not get on Facebook or Ravelry.
I went into action. I pulled the stuff out from under the bed, dusted it off and found new homes for it. I moved the bed and gathered up an entire warren of dust bunnies and swept them into the netherworld. I flipped the mattress and box springs off, got out the drill and removed the headboard. I moved furniture and works of art and junk out of the way so the delivery guys would have a straight shot into the bed room. I was on a roll. I was focused, driven, nothing could stop me.
Then it became clear that I had completely panicked the cats. Imp was dashing around the room in mad circles, jumping from the top of the armoire to the dresser, knocking things over, clawing whatever she could. She was prepared to bite off her own tail if the need should arise. Because in their world when the furniture starts shifting about then the apocalypse must be at hand. Lilith, whose emotional needs center around food, headed for the kitchen and began to search for something to eat. She sniffed every dish on the counter. She investigated the sink. She stuck her head in the trash. She sniffed over every inch of the floor searching for crumbs. When she couldn’t find anything she paced the floor and tangled herself between my legs, crying.
The rest of my evening was spent nestled on the couch with two nervous kitties and the can of Feelaway.
The actual delivery, scary men and all wasn’t as bad. Lilith isn’t speaking to me right now because she had planned to hide under the bed when the guys came in and then they took her refuge away but other than that we are now all calm and settled. At least, I am. Imp and Lilith aren’t so sure.
This might be where I usually nap, but it just doesn’t feel right.