"Mumph mumble mumble-dee-mumph!" I called out frantically. "MUMPH!"
"Where are you?" my husband, Doug, shouted. "I can hear you, but I can't understand what you're saying!"
"I said I'm stuck in the ravine in the middle of the bed!" I hollered. Once Doug pulled me to safety, I insisted we flip the mattress before I disappeared into its center sinkhole.
"Flip the mattress?" Doug yelped. "But it's king-size!"
"Steady there, cowboy. It's been two years since we flipped it. It's long overdue."
"And do you remember what happened two years ago?" Doug asked me.
I admitted it wasn't the best mattress-flipping experience of my life; but I pointed out it could have been worse. One of us could have been killed.
"I didn't mean to drop my end," I said. "This mattress has a lead core, I'm sure of it. Remember how I got the jack out of the car to lift it off you? You said you saw a bright white light while you were under it … dead relatives, too. Afterward, you cried like a baby."
"I did not," said Doug, pouting. "Did too," I insisted. "Did not!" he shouted.
"OK, you win. Now can we flip the mattress?" I asked.
"Yes, but since I have a better sense of direction, I'm calling the shots this time."
"Agreed," I said, touching the scar I got when the mattress bounced back and knocked me head-first into the nightstand before landing on Doug.
"After breakfast," Doug stipulated. "I'll need my Wheaties first."
"What about a new mattress?" I mused.
"No," said Doug the same way Ricky Ricardo used to tell Lucy she couldn't have a new hat. "This one's only 10 years old. Mattresses last at least 20 years."
"Are you kidding?" I asked. "Our mattress wasn't made like the ones in our parents' day. Their mattresses were built with leftover shell casings from World War II. You couldn't throw them away. You couldn't even burn them! They were indestructible.
"My niece is still sleeping on my sister's twin-size mattress, from when we were kids," I continued. "And you can still bounce a quarter off it! Ours has had it. Can't we put it out of its misery now, while there's a sale at Mattress Towne?" I pleaded.
"No, Lucy," Doug said.
After breakfast (and a few warm-up exercises) we began. After a minute, while turning the mattress 90 degrees clockwise before flipping it, I heard a crash somewhere to my left. "I never liked that lamp anyway," I said. "Let's get new bedroom lamps."
"No, Lucy," Doug grunted. Five minutes later, the mattress was flipped — and we were done in. "When do we have to do this again?" Doug panted.
"Well," I considered, thinking out loud, "this is August (I counted on my fingers) so, then … how about 2015?"
"Perfect," said Doug, mopping his brow with the bed skirt, "I suppose you'll want to do the guest-bedroom mattress today, too.".
"Great idea!" I declared. "Why didn't I think of that?"
"Mumph mumph mumble, mumphety-mumph," Doug said. "Mumble-dee-mumph."
I'm guessing that meant he was excited about flipping the guest-bedroom mattress.
Email Cathy Drinkwater Better at cbetter@juno.com.