You know how there are some people who replace the things you are supposed to replace regularly and there are some people who just don’t do that? Like… me? And like how I’ve been using the same toothbrush for 4 months because it just now finally stopped making my gums bleed even though I buy the ones made out of like super soft unicorn sparkle fur? (Which, coincidentally, I hear are what Jennifer Lopez makes her false eyelashes out of so you KNOW that shit is right proper soft and cuddly.)

Also? Mattresses. Allegedly you are supposed to replace your mattress every 8-10 years and I swear to you, if you try and Google this and read articles about why, I cannot be responsible for what you will do to your eyeholes to rid yourself of the images. Just… consider yourself warned…

My mattress at my parents’ house is the same one I slept on from 5th grade all through college when I lived there so while it had less drunk sleeps, it probably had more ice cream spills and I think that probably all balances out. It also has a distinctly Susannah-shaded canyon right in the middle of it. Which was always fine with me as I fit that divot quite nicely. But once you get married? And bring your beloved to share that mattress divot with you on the family holiday obligations? Well… is it weird for your husband to want to buy a new mattress for your childhood bed at your parents’ house? I wasn’t sure so we just moved back to Tennessee instead… better to avoid potential weirdness, right?

I like a good soft and cushy mattress; that makes me happy. I like to fold into a cloud puff at the end of the day and pretend I’m floating away on a pillowy pouf of Chris Pine and Ryan Reynolds and we are going to watch 90210 and have toaster struedels and they will give me the real Hollywood scoop before we get down to the naked business.

Patrick? Not so much. But the kicker is that his beef was less with the naked Hollywood heartthrobs and more with the mattress. ALLEGEDLY our mattress was… done? Jacked up? Crushed beyond repair under the combined weight of our awesomeness and the 120 pounds of dog that slept there?

All I know is that now we have a new mattress and I hate it. With a burning passion. Some sort of memory foam cooling supportive something or other but really all those fancy words mean is that MY MATTRESS IS TRYING TO KILL ME. We have 120 days to try it out. It has been 6. I want to die. Everything hurts. My head, my back, my hips. We are sleeping on a brick. It makes weird noises. It does not cush at all. I do not look forward to curling up on it with a book or a puppy or a toaster struedel. There are no naked Captain Kirks anywhere in sight. And to top it all off, the mattress is 4 inches shorter than the mysteriously old and busted mattress and now I get a crick in my neck when I watch 90210.

We are returning this mattress. I am not a mattress progressive. I NEED old school springs in my bed. Sure maybe I can drink a glass of wine while Patrick jumps on the bed and not spill it but that’s just dumb. Everyone knows that wine in bed is best in a sippy cup any damn way.