my creaky old bones

The last few times we've slept in hotel rooms, the beds have felt like those concrete slabs Fred & Wilma used to sleep on in The Flintstones. I suppose the bed we slept in for two nights at the Hyatt, when we went to Virginia to visit family last month, was better than most, but they demand a lot of money to sleep in a relatively comfortable, but not so yielding mattress. They dress the discomfort up with lots of fluffy pillows and super soft blankets.

When we were on vacation in November, the bed was TERRIBLE. Truly. No give in that sucker at all. I could feel my hip bones pressing on the springs, and let me tell you, these hips are padded. SuperHubby and I woke often and groaned with the effort of just turning over on the rack we were stuck with for the week. At one point I considered the possibility that the floor would be more comfortable than the bed. As I got ready to climb into the torture devise every night, I could feel my spine and neck tightening up in protest.

Maybe it's because we're older and like our comfort, but gone are the days we can sleep on any damned mattress, in any damned hotel room we dropped onto. I know when we're away, forced to sleep on unforgivingly hard beds, my creaky old bones crave the memory foam bed we left behind at home. I just wish there was a way to vacuum seal that sucker and take it with us.