Bed Omen

New year, new bed (sort of)

My mom called to say she liked my old stuff better.

“Your newsletter used to be funny. Now, that things have gone to shit, I guess you’re doing serious stuff.”

Mom wasn’t wrong. But like I said last week, I’d like to get back to normal at Situation Normal: slice of life humor, essays about cool books & movies, and occasional acts of absurdist journalism.

Which brings me to the waning hours of 2024. My plan was to watch college football, steam some Chinese dumplings, and ring in the new year with an edible. Christina had other ideas.

“Want to assemble a new bed?”

I had zero interest in assembling a new bed, but I’m a good husband with solid comedic instincts, so I said yes.

Our old bed frame, the one we’d had for years, was fine. The support part was was your basic metal bed frame. The decorative parts were panels covered in grey fabric that ran along the sides of the bed and a matching headboard.

Our new bed was an aesthetic upgrade. It came from Nectar, one of those start-ups “disrupting” Big Bed. Christina chose a Japanese-style wood frame. The pieces fit together without bolts or screws. According to the ads, assembly was quick and joyful.

We found assembly to be prolonged and confusing. Christina thought the person who wrote the instructions was a certified moron. I thought they were a certified asshole. Whatever certifications they had, they obviously weren’t certified in design.

But we got it done. And there was still time to watch the game, steam dumplings, and enjoy an edible. We were in bed by ten that New Year’s Eve because we had to be up early the next morning.

Per our two-year-old annual tradition, we celebrated the first day of the new year at Disneyland with our friends, Todd and Andrea, and their son, Cannonball. Our friends Becky and Rob also joined. Good times.

When we got home that night, all we wanted to do was crawl into bed. But first we had to pack, because early the next morning we were headed to see my mom in Vegas, where she moonlights as an amateur humor critic. I gathered Mortimer’s stuff so he could stay with Becky and Rob. Christina started packing. An hour later, we were beyond ready for bed.

Once we were in bed, Christina asked me to rub her back. So I rolled over, and that’s when I heard the bed begin to crack. We jumped out of bed immediately. I worried that the Dole Whip I had at Disneyland was the culprit, but Christina assured me the bed was rated to hold up to 1,000 pounds.

We removed the mattress. The wood support beam running the length of the frame was cracked. For some dumb reason, I thought we could fix it.

“I interviewed a recon Marine once,” I said. “Remember Rudy Reyes? He was in Generation Kill.”

“Babe, is this relevant?”

“Yes. Rudy told me that next to his rifle, duct-tape was the most important thing he carried. You can fix anything with duct-tape, according to Rudy.”

We got the duct-tape from the garage. Christina wrapped duct-tape around the cracked piece of wood. I assured her that Rudy’s tips always worked.

“OK, let’s put the mattress back,” Christina said.

We put the mattress back. She got into bed. Fine.

Then I got into bed, carefully.

Fine.

Then, in an instant, it wasn’t fine. A ferocious cracking sound ten times more unnerving than the first cracking sound told us this bed was fucked.

“Look at the bright side,” I said as we removed the mattress for a second time. “At least it didn’t break while we were having sex.”

“How is that the bright side? That would be legendary, babe.”

“Oh sure, it’s a great story to tell, but in the moment, you’re betwixt and between. Do you keep going, or do you stop everything for safety?”

“You keep going,” Christina said.

“Not if you’re practicing safe sex, honey.”

Christina didn’t laugh, but it was late and we were exhausted, so I didn’t take it personally. We disassembled the Nectar bed and put the broken frame in the guest bedroom. Then we retrieved our old box spring from the garage, placed it on the floor, and put the mattress on top. We got into bed. It was time to get some sleep. Except, Christina had other ideas.

“I know you’re gonna think this is crazy, but I think our lockbox has been compromised,” she said. “Will you go outside and check?”

I am a coward with solid survival instincts, so I declined.

“It could be dangerous. If the lockbox has been compromised, there could be a serial killer out there, or the bogeyman.”

“What would Rudy Reyes do, babe?”

“He’d bring back-up.”

And so we went outside together. It was scary. Maybe it was just the wind, or the vibes, or maybe it was the bogeyman. I do not know. I didn’t like being out there one bit. The lockbox was undisturbed, but we removed the key just to be safe. Then we locked the front door and got back into bed. Christina said goodnight, then turned out the lights.

“Are you serious with that shit, babe? You can’t put me through all that spooky lockbox drama, then just go to sleep. We have to talk.”

And so we talked. Actually, Christina talked. She wouldn’t shut up about this really disturbing article she read about terrible men congregating on the dark web to share stories about how they hurt women.

“Babe, what the hell are you thinking?” I asked. “I said I was afraid, and now you’re giving me stories about evil shitheads doing evil shit on the dark web? Read the room.”

Christina read the room. Without missing a beat, she switched to college football. Then she fell asleep. But I didn’t. I was still scared shitless. Every gust of wind and every bump in the night set me on edge. Without Mortimer, our four-legged alarm, I didn’t dare let my guard down. Thanks to my vigilance, and this should come as no surprise since you’re reading this, the bogeyman did not murder us in our sleep.

A few days later, we returned from Las Vegas. I phoned Nectar to tell them we wanted to return their “death trap” for a full refund. Then I boxed up their piece of shit bed and lugged that fucker to UPS. Meanwhile, Christina searched the internet for a stronger bed frame that looked like the Nectar bed. They all had a wooden support beams.

“Let’s go old school,” I suggested.

We went to one of those big-ass brick-and-mortar furniture stores. We didn’t find the perfect bed, but we found a bed that worked, so we bought it. Then we got dinner. Then we had second thoughts. Then a few days later, they told us delivery was going to take another month, or longer, so we canceled our order.

Then the LA fires started, which is neither here nor there as far as this story goes, but it does explain why we went without a bed frame that week. Mortimer loved it because the bed was closer to the floor. We hated it for the exact same reason.

“My knees are killing me,” Christina said. “We need a real bed.”

We needed to do something, fast. We’d been burned by Nectar and were in no mood to order online again. With the fires, I wanted to stick close to home.

“Look, I know you’re going for a specific look in our bedroom, and I appreciate that,” I said. “But they fuck you with this online stuff. They make something that looks great on social media, but the quality is crap. They tell you it’s simple to assemble and make you feel like you’re in the vanguard of some consumerist revolution that’s disrupting Big Bed. Then they seal the deal with free shipping because free shipping is the Jedi mind trick that made Bezos so wealthy. I say, we buy one of those cheap-ass, indestructible metal frames. That’ll hold us over until you can find the perfect bed. Deal?”

We shook on it. Then I went to the nearest mattress store. It was empty. A weary salesman took a break from watching fire coverage on the news to help me.

“This is the easiest sale you’ll make all day,” I said. “All I need is a frame for a king bed.”

He went in the back, then returned with the frame.

“Easiest sale I made all day,” he said. “Also, the only sale.”

We chuckled, but our hearts weren’t in it. Our eyes drifted to the small television on his desk. The news made everything feel apocalyptic, the empty store added to the effect. We chatted about the fires. Everyone he knew was OK. Their homes were a different story. I was in the same boat.

“The frame is one hundred and twenty out the door,” he said. “No returns. It’s as is.”

“As is pretty much sums up 2025 so far.”

“You got that right, brother.”

When I got home, Christina and I assembled the bed frame. It didn’t take long, and we didn’t need instructions. We put the box springs and mattress on the frame. This fucker looked solid.

Then we made our bed and lay in it, like a couple of idioms.

Shout outs!

Big 2025 shout outs to Mary T, sanford t rose (a gift from Martha, a trailblazing situation normie if ever there was one), B wismer, Charlotte Kneidl, Philip Beazley, Caz Hart, and Allen. Thank you so much for upgrading your Situation Normal subscriptions to become paid supporters!

Stick around and chat

I ask, you answer

1. Have you purchased a Nectar bed? Did it try to kill you too?

2. If duct-tape can fix anything, why don’t we make everything out of duct-tape?

3. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, but for some reason free shipping is accepted as gospel. Why are we so badly fooled?

4. The bogeyman is real, right?

5. Ads for Nectar beds are still following us around the internet. When will it stop?