**snizzle’ sneerk!… snork..**
Huh? Is it time to get up already?
So Saturday, I woke up from my last night of terror on the high seas and took a shower, ate cereal, and got dressed. Then I woke Esteban, who lobbied for ‘One Last Time in the Old Bed’ sex (yeah, yeah, yeah, nostalgia is for old women and people signing yearbooks! Tell it to the girl who popped your cherry, bucko!) and then he roused enough to crawl primordially into the shower (seriously, that’s what I thought as I watched his hairy ass crack recede down the hallway. That with his crazy wild mane and the resulting grunts, he was very caveman-esque. Now what woman, may I ask, can deny that creature of morning breath sex? Yes, I truly must be Maleficent in disguise.) while grunting at me that I should call around to see about ordering a waterbed pump. Already, I got prickly because Esteban’s idea of doing a project involves him in the role of foreman and me in the role of gopher. And yes, I resent the hell out of it. We have at times both been standing there and he has ordered me to fetch something from elsewhere in the house or basement while he continues to stand there DOING NOTHING. And he sees nothing wrong with that. So yes, I resent it. But I’m learning to deal with it and usually once I call him out on it and then we stop talking to each other for awhile, which solves the problem very nicely because he can’t order me to fetch a hammer from the garage using sign language. And then I usually have some sign language of my own to flip right back at him.
After finding that the Taylor Rental place he directed me to had never existed, three phone calls later I located a waterbed pump to rent at a place called Total Rental. Feeling quite proud of myself, I tried to get some props, but Esteban declared that Taylor Rental had recently changed its name to Total Rental and that’s where he told me to call in the first place. Word of warning: deny the gopher her propas and she will bite your finger the next time you point and grunt at her. However, I was quickly assuaged by a venti Sbux mocha, so disaster was mostly averted.
We retrieved the waterbed pump and commenced to pumping. Or attempting to pump. Esteban then discovered that our hose was frozen. He dunked it in the freshly cleaned bathtub for 1.084 seconds, hooked everything back up and then ordered that I stand by the sink and tell him if anything came out. Nothing. I advised that he let the hose sit in the water for at least half an hour, since the hose was still completely frozen. He grumbled, but acquiesced. And I started watching ‘Kissing Jessica Stein’, during which I paused no fewer than 9 times so that I could answer his call of ‘Weetabix’ come here!’ where I would tramp back to our bedroom and be sent on an errand while he sat there and WATCHED the TIVO! There must be a special place in hell reserved for lazy ass bitches. Or maybe their punishment is that they have to be married to sweet fun women who turn into baby wolverines for five days a month and kick their asses up and down the block when they cross the line. Finally, however, the process was in place and water began to flow through the hose and we were on our way.
Slowly.
I watched the whole of Kissing Jessica Stein and most of Serendipity before the thing got drained. It took something like four and a half hours, mostly because the fiber ‘waveless’ feature prevented water from draining properly. Finally, Esteban got every ounce of water possible from the spigot, but there still remained a rather tenacious several hundred pounds of water inside the mattress.
People, it was like moving a 300 pound wet lasagna noodle monster. We liked moving that not at all. It was like bendable lead with a will of its own. Esteban ended up tying one moving strap around the mattress and the other around his waist and then falling forward, dragging it through the house while I pushed at it from behind. I now understand why the movie The Blob was so frightening. I have seen The Blob and it is a mildew stinky, half-fully king-sized waterbed mattress.
It’s now in the garage, probably frozen to the pavement. As God as our witness, we have no idea what we’re going to do with it next. I hope that it will be easier to move once it is solid. Actually, isn’t that what foiled The Blob? Or did they electrocute the railroad tracks? I get the Blob confused with Night Of The Lepus a lot.
After that, taking down the bed went rather easily. We dissembled it and put it in the basement (because Esteban is too sentimental to donate his virginal bed to charity, I guess). Bad news though’ my wedding band was not behind the bed. I guess it’s somewhere else. No, it wasn’t my engagement ring, which is a cocktail-style solitaire, but rather a ten-diamond channel set band that was worn below it all. I actually never intended on getting a wedding band, but four days before the wedding, in an irrational fit of bridal frenzy I declared that I really really rilly rilly WANTED one, so we bought that one. And it was pretty. But replaceable. If it had been the solitaire, which contained the diamond that Ward purchased for June while he was in Vietnam and gold melted from both of their wedding rings, then I would be fuming, but it’s not, so I’m trying not to be too upset.
Does that sound convincing?
And no, he doesn’t know yet. So just hush or I’ll be very unhappy with those of you who have big mouths. I’m bothered by it enough right now and I don’t really need him freaking out that I lost my wedding ring. Also, there’s another place it could be. I’m going to check this weekend.
After we remove the bed and Esteban vacuumed (no, it’s not in the vacuum now. Believe me, I
Last night, I did a long pampering shower, complete with an aromatherapy sugar scrub and all over Body Butter. Then I crawled into my crisp white 425-thread-count sheets and tucked my down comforter around me and it was just like being an angel, sleeping in a cloud.
I had more to say about it but I think I’m going to go take a nap.
