Anyone remember the Princess and the Pea story?
Of course you do. What were you raised by – wolves? Oh. You were? Okay, well allow me to recap: in the timeless tale, a princess shows up at a castle on a stormy evening, claiming she’s royalty. As a test set by the resident queen who obviously forgot her evening dose of Prozac, she must prove herself as legit by being able to tell that she’s been laying on a heap of mattresses with a legume beneath them all night. And, sure enough, her tender tendencies render her regal in the eyes of the castle folk come morning. ’cause while a mattress covered pea’s more subtle than a pee covered mattress… the minuscule difference was still enough to disrupt her rest.
Ultimately, the fairy tale princesses’ sensitivities earned her a seat in the royal court. For peons (pea-ons?) like you and I, though, a similarly restless night on a bad mattress means we’re rewarded with little more than spasms, cramps, cervical cricks, and a Frankensteinian gait by the A.M. you wish you hadn’t woken to witness.
Hardly Disney princess fodder.
“Oh god. Not this again.”
But it does make one wonder: what’s the metaphorical “pea” beneath my bedding? Long before anyone has a chance to “pea” in my Cheerios (last urinary pun, I promise), I’m already aching from soul to skin. Is it that my mattress is too old? Is it all that nookie that I never get on it? Did I buy the wrong kind in the first place?
Well, the experts seem to suggest that when your snooze cushion’s the culprit for a less-than-regal sleep, it’s indeed because of an ill pairing with your needs versus what it has to offer. Sometimes it’s because it’s seen its day (I think they say about a decade’s when you’re meant to retire it). Sometimes it’s because it’s not firm enough. Sometimes it’s because it’s not soft enough. It seems pretty obvious – the goldilocks slumber conundrum. But what may not be is what we should consider once it’s time to adopt a new one to come live under our snoozing bodies.
And where to start? Firmness, I suppose.
As far as “firmness” goes, the pros suggest “medium-firm”. And while that term’s nice and all, much like humor, it describes a subjective experience. (Anyone else here have to be told that Silence of the Lambs wasn’t a comedy? No? Moving on…) The same mattress that feels like a cube of miracle whip for a Navy SEAL might feel about a soft as concrete floor for your anorexic friend you quietly envy.
Then, of course, if you are the anorexic friend and you’re married to the SEAL, then there’s that one number bed that caters to both’a your needs without you two having to go all Lucy and Ricky five years in and let nocturnal turning and tossing cause nuptial bliss to wither.
(“No excuses for separate beds *now*, mom and dad!”
“Sure there are. Like, for example, how we fell out of love pretty soon after we made you!”)
Ten bucks says my bedmate dog would grow an opposable thumb just to use that controller.
Which we can forget about because ten bucks times about a thousand bucks is what I’d actually need for the damned thing.
(Actually, they claim you can get it for about $700 on sale… #stillabitmuchforme)
But, just for funsies, let’s look at the prices of the top recommended sleep spaceships on the market. According to some reviews, the memory foam tops the charts pretty consistently – high end being stuff like Tempur-pedic, Simmons, and Saatva (ranging from $900 to $2,200); low end budget options comprising brands like Perfect Cloud and Signature Sleep Contour (for as low as $164 – and, yes, to my surprise the testimonials look predominantly positive). If you’re more into an innerspring sponge slumber (and if you’re not me and money’s not an issue), you can adhere to the triple “S”: Sealy, Serta, and Simmons (ranging from $500-ish to roughly $2,800). If you’re more like myself, however, Signature Sleep offers queen sized models for as low as $299. And, finally, if natural latex types are your thing, it looks like the lowest priced one’s in the range of $600ish – which Ultimate Dreams offers, while the high end (Plushbed Botanical Bliss) is around $2,600 (I’m rounding up a dollar. I benefit zero hundred percent by using that $2,599-one-dollar-short mind-hack they try to use on ya).
So, there we have it. A whole mattress catalog for me to consider as options the next time I win the lottery.
I’m being sarcastic of course – a recharging chamber is an investment for your body and mind alike. And I just have to resign myself to the fact that I’ll need to nix other expenditures like matcha lattes and the spa to save up for one. (Or…. Maybe I could just flip the one I’ve got one more time…) And, in the end, the more plebeian reason for my bad back and bad sleep may not land me Prince Pea or even that one Prince Necrophile with his miraculous wake up kiss. But it will land me the delicious opposite of both: a long, non-lumpy sleep – free of projectile limbs and sleep apnea sound effects (that vex me enough to turn this fairy tale into a crime drama double fast). Besides, if being prince-eligible means being dumb enough to sleep on a tower twenty mattresses high without asking your gracious hostess why, then I’ll gladly settle for my snooze sensitivities being paired with a single, substandard existence. Bonus: I can keep whatever bedding I end up buying all for myself. And my pup.
Which I kinda prefer, seeing as I’ll be paying a princess’s ransom for it.