Well…It happened again. For the fourth time this week, I was jolted awake in the middle of the night by electric current. Sounds strange, right? I agree. Actually, it sounds ridiculous.
Last summer I threw my back out. Craig and I decided it was time for a new mattress since neither one of us had been sleeping well. We easily agreed upon a firm memory foam mattress. What we did not agree upon was the electronic component associated with it.
I go for practical. I am happy to pay for what I need and only what I will use. Bells and whistles do not excite me. Most often they irritate me. Craig, on the other hand, lives for bells and whistles. And when the bell or whistle comes in the form of a remote control, there’s no stopping him.
Our mattress plugs in. With the touch of a button, we can elevate our heads, our feet, or both. Hell, we can even vibrate. Yep, that’s right…A vibrating massage in the comfort of our own home, instead of some skanky-ass motel operated by a coin slot machine. All of these glorious options are controlled by his and her remote controls, both of which run independently of each other.
Our new mattress sleeps like a dream, as I hoped it would. We rarely use the remote controlled bells and whistles of the bed, as I expected we wouldn’t. However, our children do all the time. They love to snuggle in our bed and watch tv, pushing buttons until they get their heads and feet in nice and cozy positions. Once comfy, they neglect to put the remote controls back where they found them. Against our rules, they sneak snacks into our bed. We commonly crawl beneath the covers at night only to curse the crumbs of disobedient evidence they’ve left behind.
It gets worse, as we have discovered the hard way. Without knowing it, on random occasions the kids accidentally activate a bonus feature on the remote control that we weren’t even aware of during our purchase: An alarm button…for the vibrator. That’s right, this glamorous bed can be programmed to shake us awake.
When we least expect it, we are obnoxiously buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz’d with an invigorating “massage.” Most often this occurs in the wee hours of the morning when we should be sleeping instead of frantically searching for a remote control to turn the damn thing off. Since you can only turn it off with the exact control that set it, the frustration that sets in when we can’t find the right remote control is maddening.
It makes me furious. However, at the time of attack, I choose to say nothing in fear that I won’t be able to go back to sleep if I do. By the time we wake up, my fury has subsided. I do make it a point, though, to smack Craig with a sarcastic one-liner to remind him that he’s the one that had to have the bed that vibrates.
You know who he blames? The kids. For messing with the remote controls.
All I can do is shake my head. His proclaimed innocence makes me laugh, even though I don’t want to. Because I blame him. And his need for unnecessary bells and whistles.