What's in a bed?

What's in a bed? That is a rhetorical question, of course. Joe and I bought a new bed today. We've been talking about it, and as both of us were rolling toward the center of our old bed (my bed before we got married,) and every morning I could feel a spring just beginning to stick out of my side of the bed, it was time to invest in a new one. (Thanks, economic stimulus money!)

The process of picking out a new bed was fun. We went to two places advertising Memorial Day sales. The first place was bright and clean with friendly sales people. The second place was dingier and the sales person couldn't seem to find a firm mattress like the people at the first place had. That is the other thing about the bed we had. It was a pillow top, nice and sinky and cozy, but Joe prefers a firmer mattress, and I can sleep on a firmer mattress, so I didn't think it would be a big deal to switch.

After a very brief stop at the second place, we went back to the first place and purchased the bed we liked. It was delivered a few hours later, and we put the sheets and comforter on, laid down, and Joe was immediately in comfort land. I was immediately sad. I miss my bed. I miss the cozy soft feeling of climbing into it. This one is just hard and unwelcoming. I know it will change as I get used to it, and I know it's going to be better for my back, but I almost started crying. It was the first bed I bought on my own. I bought it when I moved to Houston, and it's traveled with me since then. And it's very nice for one person -- it doesn't matter if one person rolls toward the middle of the bed.

So, I know I'll get used to it, it was very fun to go shopping for "our" first bed, and I am thankful for a new one...but I am allowing myself to be sad for just a bit about the old one, which, by the way, is now sitting in our dining room. Anyone within driving distance need a bed?

One of Those Moments

Joe and I were grocery shopping in Target today. When I bent down to look at some conditioner, I heard a riiippp! I popped back up, said something like "oh, no," and backed myself up against the shelf. I reached back and realized that my pants had indeed ripped in a very obvious and not-so-good spot. Joe was on his phone, realized what had happened, and asked if I needed his sweatshirt from the car, to which I said yes and immediately tied my 3/4" sleeve sweater around my waist. He came back with the sweatshirt, I tied that around my waist, put my sweater back on, and we continued shopping.

The pants are at least 8 years old (how are they that old???) and made of thin material, so I'm lucky they lasted as long as they did. They weren't particularly tight, so I think it was just time for them to wear out. Once we got home, I changed my pants, no harm done. Except, I was at a baby shower for a co-worker this morning, wearing the same pants, and I thought I'd heard a similar noise while playing on the patio blowing some bubbles with a few kids. At that point, I thought I must be mistaken, but now I'm not so sure. If they did rip some then, how many of my co-workers noticed and didn't say anything? I'm blushing just thinking about it.