Mattress 2.0: Just When You Thought It Was Safe to Go Back Into the Camper
If you read the original Tale of the Mattress, buckle up—because this is page 2 (cue Paul Harvey voice: “…and now you know the rest of the story”).
We’re supposed to pick up the new mattress this Saturday. Now, a little context: we don’t just live off the beaten path—we live so far out, we get Saturday night TV on Sunday morning. So when we need to do any serious shopping, we head to the big city—a.k.a. St. Louis, Missouri, two hours away and one IKEA trip closer to madness.
Last night, I was sitting in my favorite chair, reading a book, Odie snoring beside me like a furry white foot warmer. Everything was peaceful… until I heard it.
“Mark, how long will it take you to put the mattress in Saturday?”
If you’re married, you already know: that’s not a question. That’s a trap. I slowly lowered my book like a man peeking over the edge of a foxhole and replied with extreme caution:
“Why?”
After 34 years of marriage, I’ve learned two things:
- She knows me better than I know myself.
- I’m housebroken. Fully trained.
Then it happened. The words that strike fear into husbands across the globe:
“We could run to IKEA and get some storage organizers for the trailer.”
Now I’m frozen. I dare not speak. I dare not blink. One wrong sound and I’m in IKEA listening to ABBA, eating Swedish meatballs, and answering unanswerable questions like:
“I’m not sure what I can use it for… but it’s cute, right?”
Now, the logical man part of my brain screams:
“If you don’t know what it’s for, you don’t need it!”
But the survival instinct kicks in and says:
“Oh I’m sure you’ll find a perfect use for it, honey.”
Option two? Suggest a girls’ day out. “Why don’t you ask Robin to go with you?” That might save me, but it comes with a hidden cost—IKEA haul, Party of One (Me). Because whatever makes it home becomes my job to assemble. Let’s not forget: this is furniture engineered by Germans, built in China, shipped to Sweden, and translated into English by a blindfolded intern using interpretive dance. The instructions? Six pictures. No words. One Allen wrench. Good luck, soldier.
So, like all experienced married couples, we compromised.
She’ll go shopping.
I’ll pick up the mattress and wrestle it into the camper.
I will not make the bed—because if I do, either I’ll do it wrong, or worse, she’ll find a new comforter set and we’re right back where we started.
All this… over a mattress… that we didn’t need in the first place.
And somehow, even that wasn’t the end of it. The final chapter of our RV mattress battle came when we made one more upgrade and finally put this whole saga to bed.
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