Val and I did something in the bedroom we’ve even after 30 years of sleeping together had never dreamed we’d try.
It was, for us at least, deviant. A little kinky.
It was — and there is no way to avoid this — good and hard.
I’d better explain before any of you daintier readers become faint at the bawdy turn the blog seems to have taken.
We purchased a new mattress. In more than 30 years of togetherness, we purchased our first non-waterbed mattress.
See Val and I were both waterbed enthusiasts long before we met. This put us at odds with 97 percent of Americans who sleep.
I qualify the figure because I’m convinced about 10 percent of all Americans do not sleep even a wink. Ever. I presume the 10 percent spend their every waking moment thinking up things to say on Facebook to make it uncomfortable for those of us who check out Facebook just to make sure all our old friends remain in a state of spastic euphoria over things like Taco Tuesday.
At their popularity’s peak in 1984, waterbeds were a $2 billion dollar industry accounting for 22 percent of all mattress sales. In the free love ’70s, they were Hippie staples.
I bought my first waterbed in 1985. I was shopping to fill my very first apartment — this was in Nashville — with cheap furniture.
I remember the salesman looked like either Starsky or Hutch. I can no longer recall which is which. But I still remember his sales pitch. “There are two things that are better in a water bed,” he said. “One of them is sleep.”
Gimme a break. I was young and new to the city and open-minded about any suggestion that might increase the chances of me getting laid.
Who could have predicted my stumbling virtue would remain intact, clear up to the magical night in ’96 when my wife said, “I do.” And she did.
Am I going to miss the waterbed? At it’s best, climbing into it on a cold winter night, was like returning to the womb — that is if the womb in which you were conceived was about the same capacity as a 4-ton female pachyderm.’s.
I think I’m going to miss saying I owned a waterbed more than actually owning one.
And I’m a little sad to say goodbye to another one of those things that made the Hippie era so sweet.
Makes me feel like a relic.
To think, I once had a lava light, bellbottom jeans, beaded doorways and shoulder-holstered wine skins filled to bursting with Mogen David
When I think about it, I’m pretty lucky Val’s stuck with me and am grateful the things we share are deeper than an old waterbed mattress.
I got you, babe.
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