The 10 Least Helpful Things to Say to Your Partner As They Unwrap A Purple™️ Mattress
According to the latest research conducted by me this morning
First, let me make clear - though it should be, very soon - that this is not a sponsored post. The Purple Mattress Company has no idea who we are. We will not earn a small percentage of any sales originating from our links.
Second, let me give you some background:
You've seen ads for Purple mattresses, haven't you? Purple is the mattress company that promises to do away with such utterly wrongheaded 20th-century sleeping equipment as the standard box spring by fashioning mattresses out of a specialized grid structure that allows both for support and pressure relief - simultaneously:
But wait, there's more! Not only are they incredibly comfortable, cool, and conducive to a better night's rest than you've had in a long time, they're mostly meant to be purchased online.
And that means that if you, like Dave and me, need a bed but possess only small sedans and are therefore prevented from simply going to a store, buying one, and hauling it home, you needn't fear. Of course not! You can simply order a Purple mattress and trust that it will ship to you all teensy and compressed, expanding perfectly later on when situated just so on the bedframe.
Certainly there are many other mattresses that can be bought online. And surely there are other mattresses that ship vacuum-packed to save space. But Dave had specifically hoped to one day own a Purple mattress. And we both had moving-related backaches at that very moment. So I watched the Facebook video. Utterly hypnotized as the vaunted silicone grid structure undulated supportively, I agreed that it seemed like a smart choice.
A week passed, and a sudden explosion of barking from Jasmine yesterday afternoon announced that our bed had arrived.
Four boxes were given to Dave by the FedEx guy. He studied them, confused.
“Where's the mattress?” he asked the harried deliveryman. I could tell he suspected these four boxes held only the pillows, the mattress protector, and the bed frame - but not the mattress itself.
Geez, what a rube! “They pack it down!” I chided him, my voice obnoxious. “This is the future! It's folded up all tiny, remember? It's probably … that one,” I said patronizingly, gesturing at a parcel the size of a breadbox.
“Ah,” said Dave, still mystified, as he lugged the boxes into the bedroom. But upon opening them up, it seemed he was correct, and the tracking email confirmed that the mattress would arrive the next day: today.
“Well, when it does come, it'll probably be that small,” I grumbled, rather peevishly.
It was not.
Our mattress arrived several hours ago, and it came in a P/purple duffel bag as long and cumbersome as an area rug. Dave heaved it inside as I looked on, feeling rebuked. Vacuum-packing or no, this was still a queen-size mattress. They can only get those things to fold up so small.
In the bedroom, we examined our delivery. There were only three steps to steup, the packaging announced: “unwrap, unroll, unwind:”
Simple! I thought. I left Dave to it, knowing that I wouldn't be much help with only one properly-functioning arm.
After a few minutes, though, I began to hear a series of deep, resounding thumps from the bedroom. These were followed by exclamations both loud and low, all containing serious profanities. Slightly concerned, I decided to pop into our bedroom and check on Dave real quick. There, it seemed quite a battle of wits was shaping up.
Shreds of clear-ish white plastic filled the room, billowing and scattering until they drifted against a far wall like snow. The purple duffel bag had been successfully discarded, but after that step, Dave had met with trouble. It seemed the rolled-up mattress was encased in several frustratingly tight layers of soft plastic wrap.
Peering closer, I saw that the mattress was virtually entombed in dozens of sheets of the stuff. It spread flat. It bunched like sausages. And wads of it ran parallel and perpendicular. The mattress appeared to have been cryogenically frozen, but in plastic. How to ever penetrate such an unbreachable fortress of plastic wrap?
Dave turned to me, sweaty, red-faced, and snarling. “It's not - as easy - as it said on the packaging,” he spat.
“Can I help you?” I asked tentatively.
Dave huffed and swung, attacking the unperturbed roll of plastic like a starving coyote shredding its first meal in weeks. “I don't know, OK?!”
And with that, you're all caught up. In this context, I now present to you the 10 Least Helpful Things to Say to Your Partner As They Unwrap A Purple™️ Mattress.
1.) Why don't you just cut the plastic off?
2.) Well, but you won't accidentally cut the mattress if you only put the plastic part between the blades.
3.) Look, why don't you get back to work and let me deal with this?
4.) Hey, we don't have to do this right now!
5.) Honey, I'm - I'm becoming concerned.
6.) No, not about the bed! About you!
7.) A butter knife is not going to do it.
8.) Why don't you try these safety scissors?
9.) Okay, if these clippers don't do it, nothing will.
10.) You are supposed to cut that part! Do you think they mean for people to put fitted sheets over this plastic bag?! For God's sake, I - oh, give me that!
Whew.
But it's up! It's assembled! And I don't know if it's that high-tech, ice cube-tray internal structure or the satisfaction of having overcome such an obstacle, but it really does both support and cushion at the same time.
Unrelatedly, make sure to watch for my next piece, “10 Ways to Make a Frustrating Situation Much Worse!”