Tameka-me-crazy

Saturday morning, I broached the subject of purchasing a new mattress to my husband. I felt really guilty about it, because the mattress we bought as newlyweds is still in great condition. It's just that every time my husband's big toe twitches, I bounce up and down at least three times. If he moves his whole foot, the aftershocks can be felt for two minutes and fifty-six seconds. He moves an arm, and I'm catapulted into the master bath. Bouncy: a great trait for a baby boy, but not so great in a mattress you share with someone else. I don't know how it is that I haven't snapped yet, but I came really close on Saturday morning.

Feeling bad, I started crunching numbers and justifying my desires, like I usually do with any big ticket purchase. The money I saved by nursing my children until they were a year old, and the fact that I don't get my nails done, have both already bought me something sizeable. I can't start using things more than once, or else I can't expect to be taken seriously. Wracking my brain for other expenses I don't have, I thought about my hair. I have never dyed it. I crunched the numbers: if I had dyed my hair every eight weeks at a rate of $X per treatment (I pulled a number out of thin air--like I know how much a dye job costs), that would have added up to $X over the last seven years that we've been married.

"We have a budget for our new mattress," I announced, and then explained how it's practically going to pay for itself since I only go to the salon for trims. Perfectly sound housewife logic, if you ask me.

We set out on Saturday night to test them out. The idea of laying on something in public that other people have laid on really gives me the willies. Putting my shoes on furniture makes me feel nervous, like my dad is going to walk in and I'll be busted...and then he'll open the freezer door and ask "Am I the only one around here who knows the recipe for ice cubes?!" We grew up without an ice maker. (Pitiful pregnant pause)

Also, dealing with hovering salespeople drives me nuts. Enter Tameka, stage left.

Tameka was dressed more like a pool party attendee than a furniture saleswoman. Other than that, I had no major problems with her at first. She left us alone for a bit and didn't hover while we tried out mattresses. But then she started brown nosing my kids, talking baby talk to them and whatnot.

Then she asked me, "How old is the baby?"

"Almost thirteen months," I told her.

"Does he walk yet?"

"No."

"What a lazy baby!"

Now, I don't think I'm overly-sensitive about my children, but there was something about the way she said it that rubbed me the wrong way. Perhaps because she doesn't know me? I just don't think it's right to make jokes about a stranger's baby's development. Especially if you're trying to sell them something.

Tameka excused herself while Joe and I continued to take turns tossing and turning on the floor models. We settled on one that we liked, and Tameka came back into the picture, just as Luke started digging for gold.

"Luke," I said quietly, giving him the look. He withdrew his finger from his nose.

"Ewwwww! Don't pick your nose in front of girrrrls!!!" Tameka teased.

We told her that we were going to spend some time thinking about the bed. We wrapped things up and started to head out. Tameka bent down over George's stroller and said, "Good night, handsome!"

"Good night!" Luke replied, not even noticing that she hadn't been talking to him.

"Wow," said Tameka, "someone sure is overly confident!"

Tameka didn't get the sale. We ordered directly from the mattress company over the phone.

The timing of this whole ordeal was impeccable--I found four gray hairs this morning.