Keith and I took the kids to the Easter Show recently. Our schedule included sheep-shearing and wood-chopping, fancy sandwiches and the giant slide. Personally I was very keen to attend the ‘Wash A Pig’ event in the Pig and Goat Pavilion.
It was an excellent day, but by the late afternoon, my hip bursitis was getting angry. I had just grabbed a coffee when it started to belt down with rain, so we ducked for shelter into a building mysteriously filled with convention stalls. I spotted a row of display beds from a medical supply company. They looked soft and dry and very, very comfortable. Choirs of angels, etc, etc. When the eagle-eyed saleslady clocked my longing gaze, she ushered Keith and I over to the queen-sized set, where we lay down and obediently stretched out our aching legs. She adjusted the back supports with care and switched on a vibrating massage function, and then she pulled out a clipboard and regarded us thoughtfully.
‘How old is your current mattress?’ she asked.
‘Oh, about twenty years,’ I said.
‘Definitely due an upgrade,’ she said companionably.
‘Yes, you’re probably right,’ I said, settling in deeper.
‘Is that angle OK?’ the saleslady asked solicitously. ‘Let me give you a smidge more height. This is the setting I use when I have my doom-scroll coffee in the morning.’
We laughed together, besties, and then she fiddled with her controls until I was the most comfortable I had possibly ever been in my life. The coffee was pretty good too. Keith closed his eyes.
‘Now, do the two of you wake up in the morning feeling refreshed and spritely?’ she asked.
Well, no,’ I said. ‘Mostly I wake up feeling like an elephant sat on me.’
‘Yes, me too,’ said Keith.
The saleslady looked happy as she scribbled on her spiral notepad. ‘Pain and stiffness on waking, I see, I see. Do you toss and turn?’
‘Yes!’ I said. ‘A lot.’
‘And do you wake up in the night?’
‘I do,’ Keith said.
‘What for?’ she asked.
Keith hesitated. ‘Well, I have to go to the toilet a couple of times,’ he said.
‘Yes, many of my older men have that issue,’ she said, making a note. ‘What about pain? Do either of you have any pain?’
‘I do,’ I said eagerly. ‘Hips. And back. Hips, mostly, at the moment.’ She looked at Keith.
‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘Some things hurt.’
We glanced at each other in shared understanding. It was true that we’d ended up in a sort of impromptu senior’s health check, but the massage was a worthy trade. The saleslady tapped her pen on her notebook.
‘And do either of you suffer from restless legs?’
‘Yes, he does!’ I shouted, indicating Keith with my paper cup. We were really nailing this exam.
‘And do either one of you snore?’
‘Rach did last night,’ said Keith. I looked at him indignantly. Wandering about the show, I had felt just as I ever did, but now, as we listed our mechanical failings, one by one, I realised how decrepit the machinery had become. I was reminded of that sensation of accidentally turning the phone camera on in selfie mode and being faced with a confused gargoyle.
The saleslady launched into a long explanation about energy meridians and sleep cycles. Keith and I nodded with fake interest as she explained the impacts of a poor mattress on the blood flow, drawing pictures in her notebook to illustrate. Pillow tilt, she said. Extended lumbar support. High density smart foam core. The rain was hammering down on the pavilion roof but the gentle massage was hitting just the right spot and I could not have been cosier. Just keep talking, lady, I thought.
Eventually I asked how much the beds were. Between eight and ten thousand, the saleslady said. In that moment it seemed eminently reasonable. But our good relationship seemed to wither when I said we’d think about it.
‘I have a lay-by special available only today,’ the saleslady said. ‘These discounts aren’t transferrable, I’m afraid.’ She seemed unreasonably irritated at our hesitation to stumble upon a $10, 000 mattress at a fun fair and sign ourselves up on the spot. Perhaps people did do that? It was an incredible bed.
‘Why don’t you give me your number and we’ll discuss it in our next budget meeting,’ I said. This had Keith raising an eyebrow, because if he suggests a ‘budget meeting’ I have great trouble remaining in the room. The saleslady begrudgingly let me leave with a pamphlet, fully recharged and ready to wash a pig like it had never been washed before.
Last night, I remembered that glorious bed as I wandered back and forth along the hallway, gathering all my accoutrements for sleep. I found my glasses, my heat pad, my meds, my phone and the Bluetooth eye mask that enables me to drift off listening to grisly true-crime podcasts. By the time I got to my book, my tea was cold. Having to fiddle with the settings of a vibrating mattress would, I realised, add even more steps to my endless bedtime to-do list.
Still, that ten minutes with the senior’s adjustable bed at the Easter Show was the closest that Keith and I have come to a date night in ages. I never did get to wash a pig, but there’s always next year. I’ll make sure the schedule factors in the best ride of them all: the medical support mattress display in the business pavilion.
Other than that, life goes on here. I’m helping my Dad pack up his house to move, wrangling the kids, studying, Life-lining and writing my book in snatches of time.
Ten Things I Loved
The Easter Show! So many animals. So much fun. Although hard non-recommend on going on the tallest scariest ride with fearless daughter. Dangling eighty metres above the showground, I could feel my wee.
Long Island Compromise - Taffy Brodesser-Akner’s latest. A fun read.
The Divorce by Moa Herngren. Love a domestic drama, and there’s lots of delightful Swedish details in this he said/she said novel.
Binaural beats playlists on Spotify - helping that ADHD brain to focus while working on my novel in the mornings.
The SNL doco on Binge - so great!
1000 piece dot-to-dot puzzles, best done with kids while listening to Armchair Anonymous. We’re currently on this one:
Missing my Mum on Mothers Day and adding her classic bacon and pumpkin tart to the weekly menu.
Teenage comedian daughters who keep a running Title Of Your Sex Tape list in our shared Notes app while we watch Survivor (‘He nearly dropped his balls but he’s back in the game now’; ‘flop it out, let’s see who we’re playing with’, ‘put you on the bottom and I reckon you’ll flourish’ - you get the idea.) Also - no spoilers, we’re watching on catch-up!
Dying For Sex on Disney, some backstory, and - loved this years ago - the podcast it’s based on.
Finally, Stephen Colbert, doing a liturgical dance:
Peace be with you (and always with you.)
xRach
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