Once upon a mattress

This afternoon, monshu helped me break in my brand new bed.

Literally.

He was the first to notice something was wrong. I saw him pushing down with his hands in a tentative sort of way. I didn't think much of it until, when he went to fetch something from the medicine cabinet, I had a look myself and noticed that one of the masonite boards had come loose. I snapped it back into place--or tried to, but it was still sagging. That's when I realised that the central crosspiece was bent. Like two or three inches below its fellows.

I wish I could say we were doing something fantastically athletic at the time, but--as the big guy pointed out later--there was no more strain on the damn bed than could be expected from a vanilla het couple. Being the attentive boyfriend I am, I made sure we finished up before I got on the phone to the furniture company and tried to come up with the most accurate yet least embarrassing account of the trouble. Upshot is that they are blaming defective parts and replacing the bed next Friday.

I had my misgivings during the installation. It was delivered spot on 11 by a young bear and a skanky blond boy ("One for each of us," as monshu pointed out) and I watched them closely so I could break down the bed myself when the time came. I was dismayed to see them set up supports on the two crosspieces, partly because it meant I was losing under-the-bed storage and partly because I was thinking, What kind of bed needs supports for the crosspieces? I'll tell you what kind--some stylish but shoddily made Canadian piece of crap.

So looks like I'll be sleeping on the floor again for a while--in a much reduced space, I might add, since the bulk of my bedroom is now occupied by a large, handsome, shiny clothes rack.