We started sleeping on just a mattress on the floor which, at first, felt like camping or, better yet, the aftermath of a poet orgy circa 1968. I wondered aloud how long we would sleep like that -- at eye level with the outlets. Then it didn't feel like anything. It was just a bed. The place where I sleep. I didn't even notice anymore.
Finally, finally, right before we went to Los Angeles we went shopping for a split box spring and the bonus luxury of an actual frame with a headboard. A headboard! This thing to lean pillows against and read! Something to keep the pillows on the bed!
We planned the delivery in a strategic way: It came at 9 a.m. our first morning back from vacation. A single reason to travel in the opposite direction of where the palm trees and Steve Martin live.
After two pretty sweet sleeps, I'm giving life with a bed a super hard thumbs up. It's like sleeping in a hotel. Or on a boat. Or just being people in the latter half of their 30s who have chosen to give furniture a chance.
"I hope this doesn't make us lose our edge," Chuck said.
By the way: Does anyone know if you're supposed to tip furniture mover inner guys?
Cheapos in West Duluth