The Elephant in the Room.

The Elephant in the Room.

There are a few constants in life like how at the end of your meal at the ChopHouse, a tray appears bearing a bill and a Tootsie Pop. Then there’s how I always respond in a crisis with the grit and wit of an Army Ranger.

Last week, a mainstay in my world gave way. After many years of faithful service, our marital bed imploded – literally.

There was a catastrophic failure of the right side. After a hard day, my husband snatched a few cookies and went to lie down. At this point from the bedroom there arose such a clatter I dropped a perfectly good ice cream sandwich and ran to see what was the matter.

Upon entering the room, I saw him on the bed…though as in a hole. He wore a could-my-life-get-any-worse look. I couldn’t understand his consternation. It wasn’t like he had fallen into a sewer whisked away by stinky, filthy water — never to return. It looked an easy fix.

“Let’s just put the screws back in,” I suggested.

“Jamie, we can’t. They were stripped out of the frame.”

I still didn’t see a problem. Just move the mattress along with the box spring and repair it.

Have you tried to move a mattress recently? Sure, I have thrown a few from windows to keep ahead of bill collectors but this one was a beast. We wrestled it against a wall — taking out a few picture frames and ceramic candlesticks in the process. “All things that are easily replaceable,” I whispered.

With a forced smile I added, “We’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”  Good grief. If I was the one keeping things positive, we were only moments away from rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. 

“This will be fun. Just like camping.”

I made our pallet and went to wash my face. When I returned, he was asleep. Or faking it. I highly suspected the latter because there was no ascertainable deep breathing — just a mad-looking back lying on its side, facing me. That was fine. I wasn’t going to let him ruin my adventure.

Wait a minute. I was on the left. The pillows suddenly turned as rocks and the bed linens to sandpaper.

“John, I’m on the wrong side.,” I gasped.

“There’s no way I can’t sleep like this.”

 He remained silent. I hated to be ignored in a crisis. Sleeping on the floor on the wrong side was a little too much like camping. The last time I camped was with the Girl Scouts when the bright spot of the trip was finding a rattlesnake in the fire pit.

Are you awake?’ Silence. He left me to fidget in the dark staring at a foreign spot on the ceiling, wondering when a rattlesnake was going to latch on my ankle.

 I survived the night. The next morning as my husband left for work, he grimaced in my direction. Why was he upset? I was the one left to trip over the beast all day long. It was like having a large murdered African elephant lying about – well, without the blood, rotting animal flesh and swarming flies.

When he got home that afternoon he fixed the bed. Just like that.

Honestly, I don’t understand why he got so bent out of shape. Funny how the littlest thing can throw him off.