Back in 2010, when J and I moved to Lafayette, we hit a couple of bumps in the road of relocating. First, we ended up having to live in a truly terrible apartment sublet for six weeks while we waited to close on our house. Since J's company was generously paying for our move--but would not move our stuff twice--we had to bring the bare minimum with us for use in the sublet until we took possession of the house. That meant that we slept on my 10-year-old futon for nearly two months.
That aging futon was just about as comfortable as you can imagine. Add to that the fact that I was hugely pregnant with LO that summer, and you'll understand why I came to hate that futon and all its futon ilk with the burning passion of a thousand suns.
When we had finally taken possession of our house, moved the futon into our new house, and had a couple of weeks worth of furniture-less-ness while we had a little work done on the house, I was never more excited than the day the movers finally arrived with all of our stuff. Finally, I would be able to sit on a sofa (we hadn't brought one with us to the sublet). I would be able to write at a desk (we only had a kitchen table for the better part of two months). Most important, I would be at last be sleeping in a bed!
Then, of course, the inevitable happened. Because we are old house people and we had bought a Cap Cod home built in 1940, the staircase is a mite narrow. The box spring for our queen size bed would not go up the stairs.
I would have happily slept on the mattress on the floor, but the movers had already assembled the bed frame and inserted the mattress into the room--and the relative smallness of the room made it impossible for the mattress and the bedframe to both occupy sufficient space on the floor for anyone to sleep in a prone position (or really, any position other than leaning up against the mattress).
In short, we would be sleeping on the futon for another couple of days until we were able to locate a set of split box springs.
Considering the fact that I was a mere two weeks away from LO's birth at this point, I think I can be excused for the monumental flip-out that followed.
I called around to all of the mattress stores in the Greater Lafayette area and kept getting the same depressing answer: "We could order them for you and have them in by the week after next!"
(I did not endear myself to the salespeople at said stores when I then bit off their heads.)
I can no longer recall how I ended up calling a shabby little Mattress and Fireworks Outlet (seriously) a couple of miles away, but when the gentleman who answered the phone responded to my query that they did, indeed, have split box springs for a queen-sized bed available, and that they would be happy to hold them for me until J got off work, it was clear that I had found my new favorite retailer.
We arrived at the Mattress and Fireworks Outlet, and discovered that not only were these box springs in stock, they were a good 50% cheaper than any other split box spring prices that had been quoted to me.
That night, I slept on a real bed.
The clouds parted and angels sang.
Basically, this is all background to explain how we again ended up at the Mattress and Fireworks Outlet last night. You may recall that J and I just recently purchased a big boy bed for LO, so that his former bed would not be pressed into a double-occupancy for which it is not safety-rated.
We spent this past weekend putting the bed together, about which not much needs to be said. (It didn't take as long as we feared, and there was a minimum of cursing. But it was still a weekend day spent assembling furniture based upon poorly created instructions).
However, we were still sans mattress, and I have been having to contort my once-again-uber-preggo body into the toddler bed to lie down with LO every night at bedtime. Yesterday, when J came home, I told him that we needed to return to the Mattress and Fireworks Outlet.
While I did not have any real knowledge of how much a twin size mattress costs, I was thinking that we would probably be exiting the Mattress and Fireworks Outlet about $250 poorer and one mattress richer.
As soon as we stepped in the door, the nice gentleman behind the counter asked if we were there for a bed for our young man (since it was pretty clear from looking at us that LO is about to be evicted from his former bed), and he steered us toward the twin size mattress that parents would often choose for toddlers.
It was $95.
LO and I took a test-lie on the mattress and deemed it adequate for both sleeping and jumping needs.
On the way to the register, I saw a small selection of sheets. Since we do not own any twin-size sheet sets and I was going to have to make a Target run in the near future for them, I grabbed a set in an appropriate color and added it to the bill. These sheets are 1800 count Egyptian cotton (meaning LO now has nicer sheets than his parents) and cost a grand total of $25.
We left the Mattress and Fireworks Outlet with a new mattress and the necessary sheets for LO to spend his first night in his big boy bed in under fifteen minutes, for a grand total of $120, plus tax.
Truly, there is something magical about this place.
(J did mention as we were loading up the car that putting together a Mattress Outlet with a Fireworks Outlet does seem to pair together two remarkably flammable things, however. We spent the drive home coming up with ways the outlet could offer even more flammable options: Come to the Mattress, Oily Rag, Fireworks, Gasoline, Bic Lighter, and Zeppelin Outlet!)
Last night, LO and I snuggled together in his big boy bed, and I was thankful for the Mattress and Fireworks Outlet.
Every time I need either a mattress or an explosive pyrotechnic device, I clearly know where to go.