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Baldilocks and the Three Beds

Baldilocks and the Three Beds

    Call me Baldilocks.

    You've heard of Goldilocks.  She's the blonde juvenile delinquent of fairy tale fame.  She broke into a home owned by three bears.  After ransacking the kitchen and living room she messed up two beds before finding a third to her liking.  That's where the cub found her and screamed the immortal words, "Someone is sleeping my bed!" 

    Baldilocks is no burglar.  But like his golden-haired predecessor he has been testing beds and finding them wanting.  The one just purchased for a small fortune was too hard.  Maybe astronauts could slip off to Never Never Land lying on its viscoelastic foam; but they were younger and trimmer than Baldilocks.  Besides, orbiting the earth they were weightless. They suffered no aching sacroiliacs.  Their skeletal frame wasn't bent out of shape.  Baldilocks could hardly limp to the breakfast table to scarf down an anti-inflammatory pill with his morning tea.

    That was the first purchase at Bedding Barn, a NASA-inspired plastic brick. 

    The new mattress was necessitated by the collapse of a mattress that had served well for thirty-four years.  When the New York Conference of the United Methodist Church passed a rule giving the parsonage furniture to the resident pastor of each church, I, Baldilocks, was gladdened.  It meant I could take my mattress with me to Connecticut.  And I did.  But apparently it thought it should also be retired.  It lost its bounce.  It sagged like a swayback horse.  The comfortable fit for my aging hips became a gaping pit. 

    Alas, I had to say goodbye to my old friend that went soft on me.

    The saga continues.  Maybe there will be a happy ending.  You know, "And he slept peacefully evermore."  Elsie at Bedding Barn took pity on me.  She showed me eight other mattresses, none of them NASA approved.  I found one that seemed comfortable.  But the asset test is a full night's sleep.  That will have to wait for another week or so.  We are off to the Land of the Midnight Sun.  Sailing the western shore of Norway there won't be much night in which to sleep.  It's probably just as well, considering my recent sad history of somnolence, or lack thereof... and, foreboding future sleeplessness, there are bunk beds in the ship's cabin. 

    Stay tuned. 

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