Pride goes before a … POOM

For those of you who do not know, I’ve been sleeping on inflatable air mattresses. When Sherry’s house had all the carpets and tiling ripped out leaving bare concrete, that meant all the furniture had to be out first. So away went things like the bed, the kitchen table, the loveseat. I had to sleep on something, didn’t I? I drove myself right on down to our handy-dandy Wal-Mart to buy a Queen-sized inflatable air mattress from the outdoors section of the store. Only about $15 bucks. What a deal. 

Home I came to inflate said air mattress. The first night taught me something extremely important: at five-feet two-inches short, mumble-mumble-mumble pounds, and fifty-two years old, there’s absolutely no graceful way to get off the floor. Can’t put your knees on the floor because the floor’s concrete and that’s brutal on fifty-two year old knees. Can’t put your feet on the floor then stand up because fifty-two year old knees mean fifty-two year old hips. In no way whatsoever am I stating the reason the hips don’t want to move: I weigh mumble-mumble-mumble and gravity holds fast to my size twenty-something derriere. Not a factor, I’m sure. 

Getting up meant rolling around on the floor searching for something taller than six inches upon which I could catapult myself upwards. Did I mention the concrete floor is brutal? Hard as. . .concrete. And cold. I called out, “Help! Help me! Somebody?” Considering I lived alone, I didn’t receive any assistance. Had someone walked into the bedroom, I’m positive I would’ve been able to leap to my feet and race out the door as if my 2X nightgown were on fire. After I probably had a small heart attack and lost control of certain bodily functions. But that’s neither here nor there because no one else was in the house except small furry, four-legged babies, and they were no help whatsoever. 

Forgive me for refraining from explaining exactly how I managed to get up. All I’m going to say is: it wasn’t pretty. Babies seem to propel themselves upward quite easily that way. I can’t imagine my bottom weighs all that much more than a loaded diaper when size, weight, age, proportion to the center of the earth’s gravitational pull are factored in. As nature would have it, I’d been rather thirsty that day and had well hydrated myself. No less than four times did I have to roll, crawl, push myself butt stuck up in the air, to a standing position so I could avail myself of the facilities. (What? Hold it? Are you kidding me? There’s no such thing as “holding” a fifty-two year old bladder. Trust me. You’ll find out soon enough, you youngsters who are laughing behind your hands. 

The following day saw me returning to our handy-dandy Wal-Mart for another Queen-sized inflatable air mattress. Still only about $15 bucks. Still what a deal. Despite the fact both boxes state the mattress enclosed within is Queen-sized, the mattresses aren’t the same size. I put the larger one top and adjusted it to fit with an equal overhang on all sides. I put the Queen-sized sheets on it, slept on it. Viola! Getting up is easy as pie. Just kinda bounce on it a couple times and up you get. The Queen-sized sheets weren’t as happy. Apparently the top mattress was closer to King-sized. I had to remake the bed every morning because the sheet’s corners popped off. Small price to pay for being able to get off the floor. Until a couple of the corners ripped at the seams. Dang. 

What’s that saying? “If Wal-Mart doesn’t have it, I don’t need it.” Feel free to substitute “Target” or “Costco” or “Sam’s” if you wish. They have King-sized sheets. A tad bit big but better than ripping corner seams. I am so not into ripping seams. On anything. That might think it was tight when it really wasn’t. Just sayin’. . .. 

Things were going extremely well. Then Sherry came for a visit. Even when there was more than one bed in the house we’ve always slept together. What better way to talk half the night than to lie beside one another in a comfy bed and relive the marvelous things we’ve experienced in our lives? Sister-bonding isn’t the same when you’re screaming down the hallway between bedrooms. 

One night we were peacefully sleeping when all of a sudden part of the mattress under the right side of my body exploded upward. With a loud POOM! Like a glacier violently erupting from the sea. It tossed me up off the mattress. I don’t think I’d landed more than half a nanosecond when I was on my feet and running for the closest exit. It does no one any good to state the phrases spewing from my mouth at jet-take-off decibels. Suffice it to say I had been a little startled. Sherry sat up on her unaffected side of the mattress, looked around as if to say, “What the flaming fire of Mount Vesuvius is goin’ on?” (I don’t know that’s what she was thinking. That’s what it looked like she was thinking as I blasted by at ninety three miles per hour.) 

The top of the air mattress isn’t completely smooth. It has long “rows” I’ll call them, from the top to the bottom. The seam of the last row on the right—my side—had come unsewn, turning it into one very large, protruding tube. Dang those seams again! I must admit it made for a great body-long body pillow. Unless someone else was sleeping in bed with me. I crammed myself up against the two feet tall hump as best I could so Sherry didn’t have to sleep on the very edge of the mattress. I didn’t want her to roll off the bed again. She’s sixty two. Did I mention the concrete floor is brutal? Hard as. . .concrete. And cold. (Hm? You don’t want people to know you’re sixty two? Going to be sixty three in January? Oops. My bad.) 

Sherry returned home to the blistering desert of Seminole. That left me on the Queen-sized air mattress alone. It worked out perfectly fine. Great body pillow. Then I moved into the small duplex where I now reside. The rooms are small enough that when Sherry visits she can sleep in one bedroom while I sleep in the other and we can talk half the night in our comfy beds and relive the marvelous things we’ve experienced in our lives. In this place, sister-bonding is achievable without screaming down the hallway between bedrooms. I graciously gave her the inflatable air mattress with the built-in body-long body pillow. It was the least I could do to ensure my much older and much wiser beloved sister’s comfort. 

Perhaps taking water aerobics makes one’s joints more limber than the other one who doesn’t take water aerobics. Or perhaps being married for forty two years loosens up a person. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the extra mumble-mumble pounds I weigh more than she does. In any case, Sherry has no problem getting out of a six inch high bed on the floor. Back to our handy-dandy Wal-Mart to purchase another Queen-sized inflatable air mattress. Did I mention despite the fact all the boxes state the mattress enclosed within is Queen-sized, the mattresses are not the same size? The one I placed on the top was much smaller. I adjusted it to fit with an equal edge on all sides, put the King-sized sheets on it. There will be no corner seams ripping. There is an abundance of sheets. Copious sheetage, as it were. 

Things were going extremely well. One night earlier this week I was actually managing to sleep when all the sudden part of the mattress under the lower right side of my body exploded upward. With a muted POOF! Like a miniature glacier not-so-violently erupting from the sea. It tossed the lower part of me up off the mattress. Since I had experienced this phenomenon previously there was no need to run for the closest exit while screaming phrases from my mouth at jet-take-off decibels. It was a rather awkward sleeping position. Most human hips and spines don’t twist at that level. Unless you’re a performer for that Circus du Solie group. I am not. 

I have been attempting to sleep catty-cornered these past few nights. Tonight after I had availed myself of the facilities I returned to my inflatable air mattresses bed. Upon lying down there was a loud POOM! Air exploded at tornado speed from somewhere over my head. In the dark I frantically searched for what had to be a large tear with the enthusiasm of I’m-still-partly-asleep-so-I-think-I-can-fix-this-enormous-rupture hopefulness surging through my bloodstream. 

By the time I located the five-inch-long rip the entire mattress had deflated. A few books, several bridal magazines—because I’m totally addicted to finding The One, falling in love and then getting married—and my beloved Kindle on the mattress were flinged to the floor. The way-too big King-sized sheets were draped over the sides of the lower mattress as if a little girl were trying on one of her mother’s maternity dresses. 

A couple hours have passed. I am looking desperately at the bathroom door. I am six inches off the floor. Permit me to mention I am now fifty-three years old. With fifty-three year old knees and hips and a fifty- three year old bladder. I might not be as sharp at remembering things as I once was, but I do recall how to get upright when the inflatable air mattress is only a worm’s height off the floor. It still isn’t going to be pretty. Despite the fact I’ve lost three hundred fifty pounds in a “five pounds off, five pounds on, five pounds off” see-sawing weight-loss effort. Okay. I’ve really only lost twenty pounds. That should make it much easier to get up, right? Ha-ha-ha-fofl-OUCH! Clothing will hide all the bruising. 

Tomorrow I’ll return to our handy dandy Wal-Mart for another Queen-sized inflatable air mattress. What I really hope is it’s close the size of the inflatable air mattress on which I’m sleeping. Because I bought Queen-sized sheets last week to fit the mattress that just exploded. 

Sure wish I had something profound to say about how God loves us no matter where we are, even if it’s on an inflatable air mattress six inches off the floor. About how He stands by us through trying times such as rolling around on the bare concrete floor calling out, “Help! Help me! Somebody?” (It would’ve been nice to experience a scant amount of divine intervention, God. Nothing major. Perhaps the breeze from the ceiling fan could’ve blown me upward a few inches. You’re still in the miracles business, I know You are.) About how, like His children, no Queen-sized inflatable air mattress is the same. We are all unique, precious, beloved to Him. 

But I can’t think of anything. 

Now if He can miraculously assist me up so I can avail myself of the facilities. I’ve had a glass of water while He’s fed me this Giggles. Shouldn’t the fact I’m doing the Lord’s work amount to something? I am just sayin’. . . 

Until next time, may you be filled with God’s tender mercies. 

Jann (Sherry’s sister)