#tempurpedic

[foldingfittedsheets]

Tempurpedic all foam beds really have the least motion transfer of any bed, bar none. They had a whole wine glass commercial about how you wouldn’t feel other stuff in bed but I only internalized this when I got my mattress about eight years ago.

So like, usually when you have little creatures in your life and your home you feel them jump up on the bed. But that’s because of the kinetic energy in coils. Whereas on an all foam bed all their impact is dampened, there’s no sign of creatures joining you at all.

And my little creature will usually announce herself when jumping up on the bed with little huffs, but upon experiencing such an interesting new material she will instead silently walk around enjoying the effect.

Then she is excited to see me, though I am laying mostly asleep with my eyes closed when she approaches. She sticks her face into mine. I s c r e a m because apropos of nothing there was suddenly whiskers in my face and I am convinced that this was the coming of the spiders that wanted to crawl in my mouth.

That’s when I finally understood that no motion transfer meant my cats were suddenly whisker assassins in the night.

[quarlesfurniture]

Do you find yourself sleeping hot, even when the temperatures dip? 🌡️ No matter the sleep challenge, Tempur-Pedic® offers one-of-a-kind solutions designed to give you deep, undisturbed rest every single night. 💤 Experience the ultimate cooling comfort at Quarles Furniture today!

👉 https://quarlesfurniture.com/tempur-pedic/

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#QuarlesFurniture #TempurPedic #SleepSolutions #CoolingComfort #BetterSleep #MattressGoals #UndisturbedRest

[archives-of-genevieve]

InStyle Magazine | March 2011

Pages 480 - 491

[ghost-proofbaby]

It's summer for you, winter for me. Warm me up with strawberry fluff! As always, my muse, your muse, the one and only, Eddie.

Midsummer's night, because I don't have a lot to inspire you with. I'm thinking something cute but weird? Maybe some human body softness where Eddie is a bit of a freak and we love him for it. And we're told our bodies are lovely, even when they're doing weird shit.

I lalalove youuuuu. xo Rhi

RHI!!!! <3 i adore you. thank you for this prompt - i had far too many ideas for it, but ended up on settling for this one, which coincidentally feels like the most subtle of them all? either way, it definitely turned out being the softest. give me an eddie munson who just wants to sniff me like a dog. this definitely got a bit long but i hope you enjoy, my dear <3

the smell of you

warnings: weirdos in love? idk. i have a skewed sense of what is actually weird i think. mentions of death and coffins jokingly. eddie 'manhandles' reader sort of. not edited.

wc: 2.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

“Eddie?”

The entire apartment is quiet – too quiet – as you drop your keys into the old crystal bowl on the counter. The clink resonates through the air, louder than the soft murmur of the stereo static you can hear from down the hall. 

“You dead?” you call out again, slipping off your running shoes and tossing down your headphones onto the counter as well now, “Do I need to call the coroner?” 

Your tone is lilted, teasing with airiness as you continue to wander deeper into the apartment and head straight for the room you know Eddie has to be in. Like the waves pulled by the moon, there’s an incessant string tied around one end of your soul that connects you to his, and you follow it all the way down the hallway. The bedroom door is wide open, and you can hear his mumbled yell of a response without clarity before you even cross the threshold. 

You wouldn’t have even needed him to verbally respond to find him in this tiny apartment. You two could get separated on the streets of a bustling city, of a buzzing New York sidewalk, and you still wouldn’t properly lose him. It’s more than just soul ties and his gravity that keeps you pulled to him. 

Something unspoken. Something homely. 

“Sorry, what was that?” you hum as you spy him face-down in the bed, pillow muting him by the mouthful, “Say it one more time, and this time not into the pillow.” 

When he finally properly turns over, he’s a vision. Sleep lines folded into his skin and a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, eyes squinting in irritation not at you but the sunlight flooding in through the bedroom window. Messy hair, messy shirt, messy everything. A kind of mess you just want to collapse into currently, curling up in all that he is from the day’s exhaustion. 

He’d mentioned wanting to take a nap before you’d left for the gym. Something about the summer heat draining him, trailing off as he’d rambled about how he’d probably thrive as a vampire. 

“I said,” he huffs, sitting up, the frizz of his hair becoming a makeshift halo, “If you call the coroner, request the comfiest coffin possible.”

“Why do you need a comfy coffin if you’re already dead?” 

“You dare deny me of being buried in tempurpedic memory foam? In my hour of need?” 

You roll your eyes as you huff out a little laugh, forcing yourself to turn away from him long enough to strip out of your socks. But just as you reach down for the pieces of clothing, you catch sight of the source of that stereo static flooding the room. 

Your shared record player, spinning a blood red pressing of one of your more recent vinyl purchases. The album has been played through, but the player no longer had an automatic stop mechanism, probably from years of use. 

The center of the record is probably scratched, and Eddie knows it, from how sheepish he looks when you glance over your shoulder at him. 

“Speaking of death,” you walk over quickly, purposefully, before carefully lifting the needle and cutting the static finally, “Care to explain why you’re burning scratches into my Momento Mori vinyl?” 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, nearly flinging himself off the bed as he scooches quickly to the end, clearly fully awake now, “I put it on and thought I’d just lay down for a quick second, but then the bed was so comfy, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick nap, and then…” he trails off, looking up at you through his lashes with big eyes already pleading for forgiveness, “I’ll buy you a new one. Swear it.” 

It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s looking like this, inhumanely soft and easily forgiven, “You’re lucky you’re cute, or you really would be dead.” 

He doesn’t respond with words, but instead the outstretch of his hands, fingers flexing as he beckons to you. The needle rests on its perch, the vinyl left behind to gather dust for a few extra moments, as you go straight to him. 

When his palms slip beneath your old t-shirt and meet your skin, they’re pleasantly warm. 

“You were right,” you admit as his knees spread, delegating even more room for you to stand in front of him as your hand wanders to cradle the side of his face, fingers tangling in sweaty curls from his rest. Your thumb mimics his on your own skin instinctively, tracing a large arch right up over his cheekbone, “It’s hot as balls outside.” 

“Told you so,” he murmurs, smiling softly in satisfaction as he leans lazily into your touch. 

“You did,” you agree quietly, half-entranced by his relaxed face, no sight of pride in the room currently. 

He resembles a cat as he continues to preen under your gentle hand, and you almost expect him to start purring right before you find the strength to pull away, removing his hands from where they'd wandered to your lower back. 

One swipe of his finger along your sweaty spine, and you’d remembered what your original intentions had been immediately upon getting home. 

“Wai- Where are you going?” he’s seemingly brought back down to Earth the moment he loses the pattern your thumb had been tracing, the press of your fingertips into his scalp. When he reaches back out to latch onto you again, you take a step back, “Get back here-”

“I need to shower,” you laugh, shaking your head and smacking his hands away as he continues to barter, “I’m all sweaty and smelly, let me go clean up and then we can nap togeth-” 

“You can shower after we nap,” he nearly whines, finally catching your shirt between his fingers and tugging, uncaring for if he stretches the fabric. A small price to pay to have you close to him, “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re just as exhausted as I am.” 

You swear you meant to take another step backwards, but somehow, you end up back between his knees, “Did you not hear me, Munson? I stink.”

“Good.” 

He doesn’t give you any time to react – in an instant, he’s throwing his face forward, burying it against your stomach as you let out a gasp and immediately try to pry him away with far too gentle of hands in his hair. 

“Eddie!”

If it were anyone else, you’d probably be mortified. But Eddie just takes a dramatic deep breath in, nose buried just shy of your belly button, and when his shoulders start to shake with muted laughter, you can’t stop the smile from breaking. Your fingers are still twisted in his hair, still pulling back in an attempt to get him away from you, but he’s resilient. 

And all your faux resistance is weak in comparison. Soon enough, you’re back to melting into him. 

Only once you’re relaxed once more, no sign of trying to pull away again any time soon as his hands once more evade the space beneath your shirt to wander up and down your sticky skin without a care in the world, does he lift his face away from you long enough to breathe and speak, “I’ll have you know – I love your stink.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“I’m your idiot.” 

The game of banter is cut short when he goes back to pressing his nose into your clothes that surely can’t smell good. No amount of deodorant or perfume could erase that underlying stench of sweat. Hell, the shirt is still a bit moist from it all: from the walk to the gym, from your workout itself, from the walk home. It’d been through the ringer, and you’re back to tugging him away from you. 

“I refuse to believe you like how gross I smell right now,” you reinforce, eyes darting towards the bathroom connected to your master bedroom, “I promise I’ll be quick with the shower.” 

“Baby,” he fights back, wrapping his arms around you securely, no intention of losing this battle, “You remember that time we went to the fair, and you were complaining about how you were sweating, so I tried to lick your face?” 

Your nose scrunches quickly at the memory, “I do, unfortunately.”

“You really think I’d be willing to lick the sweat off your body but be afraid of you smelling a little bad while we cuddle?” his shoulders drop as he looks up at you, head tilted, almost as if amused with the conversation, “What kind of man do you take me for?” 

“The kind that gets off on annoying me.” 

His jaw drops, putting on a fake look of offense before he dramatically throws himself back onto the bed, laying flat as he makes a fist to mimic stabbing his chest, “You wound me.”

You’ve heard those words a thousand times in a hundred different ridiculous voices. You’ve seen this scene enough to have it mesmerized at this point, down to the over-exaggerated pout of his lips and the lingering of the fist against his sternum. 

You never grow tired of it. You never will. 

“Need me to kiss it better?” you joke as you prop a knee up on the bed, following the same script as always. 

And he hits his queue perfectly when he lifts his head eagerly at the expected response, wiggling his brows a bit. “Absolutely. Doctor’s orders, in fact.” 

“Great,” you see an opportunity, and take it, “I’ll get right to it, after my showe-” 

You don’t even get the final syllable of the word off your tongue before he’s clenching his thighs around your own, knees pressing hard before he wraps his legs the rest of the way around your waist to pull you in. A squeak of surprise leaves your lips as you begin to fall forward, but Eddie is quick to break the fall with ease. Catching you with his eager hands, maneuvering for you to half drop to the mattress while some of you still lands atop of him. 

He has you right where he wants you, turning his head to be face to face with you, noses nearly brushing, “Unfortunately, the doc said you have to kiss it better now, or else you’ll be comfy coffin shopping.” 

“A fatal wound?” you gasp, nearly mocking him. It doesn’t offend him – if anything, his boyish grin only grows wider, “First, I’m smelly-”

“Again, I like when you’re smelly.”

“-And then I inflict a fatal wound upon my lover? Oh, how dare I.”

Slowly, all your insecurity of how you currently smell is simply fading. The entire ordeal has become an art of childlike, whimsical jokes – and Eddie is an artist. A professional at the dance, locked and loaded with his incomparable skill set equipped for disarming you this way. The ability to make someone feel loved, imperfections and weirdness aside. 

He likes you, even when you claim you don’t smell your best. And you like him, even when his hair is tangled beyond recognition and one of his socks is half-hanging off his foot from a nap.

You like him when he’s embarrassing you in public, tongue chasing after you with the threat of licking your sweat away, and he likes you when all you can do in response is a weak palm to his chest (that isn’t even making an effort to push him away) as you giggle relentlessly. 

You like each other on the good days, the bad days, the weird days. 

Disarmed entirely, you don’t even notice when his face conveniently slots itself far too close to your armpit as you two scooch further up into the bed. You’re more occupied with the way your legs tangle up, toeing each other’s socks off properly as he slings a heavy arm across your torso. 

“We’re gonna have to wash the sheets,” you mumble, exhaustion catching up as the two of you finally settle. 

He hums absentmindedly, nuzzling into your skin a bit further as he makes himself comfortable. “And wash away your sweet, sweet stink? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, unbothered as your fingers start to trail up and down his back over the t-shirt, smoothing out wrinkles along the way, “I’m serious. We need to change them soon anyways, I think I got crumbs in the bed the other night with those crackers.” 

“Bury me in the crumbs of all your midnight snacks,” he almost slurs, clearly drifting back off. 

You snort in response, relaxing and letting your own eyes shut. Matching all your deep breaths with his own, a million different last words crossing your mind to whisper to the boy you’re sure is once again asleep. 

I love you.

I adore you. 

I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. 

And maybe some of those unspoken thoughts slip out without you realizing, because he squeezes you just a little bit tighter, presses his face just a little bit deeper into your skin as his scruff tickles you. 

The only actual thought you can know for certain that you say, though, is, “Do you think they actually make coffins with memory foam inside?” 

To your surprise, even despite the almost-snores that had been escaping him, he answers in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, definitely. We’ll order two.”

[black-star-kunzite]

Watching Dexter spear some guy through a fucking mattress in a Calvin Klein polo shirt, khakis and some fuckass loafers has me in tears. This man pulling mortal combat finishers on people in business casual clothing and going to work the next day in some Tommy Bahama bullshit to derail another investigation

[baejax-the-great]

My office floor is legit 50% dog beds at the moment, and the two dogs still argue over who sleeps where

[whydoifeelthisquiet]

I’m sorry but it’s infuriating and slightly hilarious to me that there are people acting like they’re on the frontlines of this war on here and then you click on their blog on it’s like white♥️Christian♥️Midwestern … it is the definition of privilege to act like you’re living through this when you’re posting from your room in … like …fucking Michigan

[foldingfittedsheets]

So I see your bed suggestions for heavier folks, namely very beefy coils, but what about for lighter folks? Like only a hundred pounds light? What kind of traits or qualities do you recommend looking for in those cases?

You’re gonna want something Squish. You still need support but when I was tiny I just didn’t weight enough to get back support out of firm/medium beds. I needed a softer feel to actually get anything out of it. But all my bed guide stuff still applies to feeling how your spine is supported.

[confused-alot]

watching edge of sleep and it cuts immediately to a mattress commercial

[quarlesfurniture]

Sleep hot? Stay cool all night with the TEMPUR-Breeze® Collection available now at Quarles Furniture in Bolivar! 🌙❄️ From the refreshing TEMPUR-ProBreeze® to the ultra-cooling TEMPUR-LuxeBreeze®, find your perfect night’s sleep.

👉 https://quarlesfurniture.com/tempur-pedic/

[onlineufo]

this little guy has been making me very happy recently

[wyvernscales]

Since Emmrich doesn’t have a bed/cot in his room, I think that he literally marches his ass back to Nevarra every night bc nothing, not the blight, not the risen gods, not the Venatori, and no other nefarious ne’er-do-wells are gonna keep that man from his four poster California king tempurpedic mattress with goosedown pillows and silk bedsheets. You KNOW his ass is wearing a nightgown, cap, and an eye mask to bed. Gotta get his honk shoos and mimimimis in.

[ggidolsmuts]

Pillow Play - Twice Nayeon

Nayeon arrives home, bringing in the package she saw at her door.

"Oh, wonder what this is?"

She doesn't think too much about it, leaving it at the entrance of the door. Nayeon sheds her clothes, walking into her bathroom already naked. The water soon runs down her body, flowing smoothly down her curves as the stress of the day slowly drains away.

She comes out of the bathroom after her shower partly dressed and completely relaxed, in her underwear and a towel around her hair.

"Let's see what you are..." Nayeon mumbles as she sits down on her sofa, grabbing a pair of scissors and slicing open the package. It's a pillow, and Nayeon takes it out of the packaging, feeling it's extra firm feel that maintains its shape through her squeezing. It curves naturally in her hand, like it would perfectly support her head and neck if she slept on her back or side. Nayeon tilts her head from side to side, and she warms under her own touch—she hadn't seen her boyfriend in a while, maybe it was time for something that could give her good support.

She brings the pillow to the bed, except she's using it all wrong—Nayeon lays the pillow on it's edge, and her thighs trap it in place as she sits down on it, the solid firmness of the pillow applying firm pressure between her legs as her knees sink into the mattress.

"Oh, that's nice." Back and forth she rocks, grinding her dampening core on the pillow. It has the perfect amount of push back, the pillow trying to return to its original shape pressing right against her. Nayeon adjusts her angle a little bit, breathing out loudly as it brushes against her clit, pushing her further to climax.

"Almost there..." Her hands slip under her bra, and Nayeon begins playing with her own tits, grabbing and squeezing them roughly, like how her boyfriend would. She goes one step further, leaning forward and twerking her hips on the pillow, as if she's grinding on his cock, feeling her clit get properly rubbed against the pillow. With a shudder and a low moan Nayeon's thighs seize around the pillow, and she bucks her hips down and into it as she cums.

"Nngh... fuck that wasn't bad at all." Nayeon rolls off the pillow, blushing slightly at her own soaked spot on her panties and the pillow. She throws both into the laundry when she receives a message from him.

*Hey I ordered a pillow for my neck but put in your address instead by mistake. Could you hold it for me until I come over? Thanks!*

Oh she's going to do more than hold it for him.

*Sure, I washed it too just for you <3*

*Thanks, love you!*

A/N: Something quick and stupid when I saw she was a model for Tempurpedic pillows lol. I grabbed some of the descriptions from it's website, I'm sure you can tell. Also reminds me of that one locke fic that uses a similar pic. Thanks for reading!

[scleroticstatue]

OK, here's Part 2 of the worldbuilding questions list: What do Morwen's current outfits say about her (with or without armour)? Anything beyond "adventurer"? What would Gavrel's reaction be if Morwen went off and leveled up her crafting skills and asked if she could embroider protective and healing spells onto any of his shirts that didn't have them (and make him a blanket with runes for sound sleep)? (Because she absolutely will do that, and she might use it as an excuse to get some colour into his wardrobe, and also as a not-so-subtle hint to GO TO SLEEP GAVREL.) Can you make rune-worked bandages that slow bleeding or speed healing or lift/reduce the severity of curses? Carven splints that encourage breaks to heal quickly and cleanly? How about bandages that encourage the body to restore lost blood quickly? Are Morwen's temperature-controlled sheets back home worked with runes or enchanted or something else? How about a comb that detangles hair, or a drying rack that instantly dries clothes? Heck, a rack that cleans *and* dries? OOOOH, what about a bookshelf that bends space like the Wizards' Guild front desk? INFINITE BOOKS!

Wow. This is a lot to unpack here. First, quick note: magic made through clothes is called seidr.

So. While her armor does say "adventurer" (and not even "wannabe adventurer," with the damage it's got now), with her different bits and pieces from around the Labyrinth, Morwen's current outfits say she's a traveler. Probably an explorer or a cartographer, but she lacks the Innholders Guild badge, so people would assume that she does a lot of escort Quests through the Adventurers Guild or is rich/Skilled enough to travel for fun. This will very quickly make her a celebrity almost anywhere. Think of people who traveled to China during Regency England sort of celebrity; they're either military or loaded, and either way, they've got some cool stories.

Gavrel would probably explain the seidr he's already got on his clothes. His bedtime clothes are probably okay to add stuff to, if she wanted to try, but his daily wear are already pretty loaded and adding more might cause conflict. A blanket for sound sleep would be very nice and he might get all teary about the offer.

You could make seidr bandages for healing, but bandages aren't supposed to be reused because they can recontaminate an area if they haven't been properly cleaned, which is difficult because fabric is porous and absorbent. It's generally considered cost prohibitive to make anything artificial if it's not meant to be used multiple times. Atticus would probably be able to afford them, maybe some of the upper nobility that don't get hurt very often. Gavrel would be 50/50 because though he could afford to buy bandages if he was a normal person, he's Gavrel, and if he were to put a seidr bandage on every injury he got, he might be broke in a year.

Other medical devices aren't that common because the people with the ability to make them would just consider it faster to heal the person outright rather than make long-term devices that aid in slow healing. You can't reuse a healing spell, of course, but most everyone would just rather go to the Tamed Garden than deal with a broken leg for a week or two until the break healed. I suppose a splint that prevented further damage during regular use of the area or numbed pain might have a market, especially among adventurers or travelers that probably aren't partied with a healer during their injury to begin with.

Morwen's sheets are not magical. Her mattress does have magic in it — and springs, which are a novel invention from the otherworlder adventurers pre game shutdown — to adjust tension for ideal support based on body position, which is similar to how a tempurpedic is supposed to work, but it actually does because it's magic.

Detangling combs are fairly common, though Morwen doesn't have one — she lacks a comb at all — but they're around at the inns, as well as having magic to prevent communicable diseases like lice from spreading. Washing machines and dryers don't currently exist, but there's nothing to say they can't. Infinite bookshelves would probably not be wise, as the space warping spells may cause confusion that would negate any learning you try to attempt with the books you're keeping anyway.

[carolrain]

Fic Rec Friday Rec Round Up

week 3: for July 11

Get Some Schitt's Creek Fic! Right Here!

Hello! This week, @mammameesh asked for hurt/comfort fics, and we found a few to recommend. Our fandom does seem to enjoy causing our characters a little pain so we can then make it all better:

Bean by @likerealpeopledo-on-ao3

Don’t Whump With My Heart by @delilah-mcmuffin

An Early Winter by littlebebecrows

heaven is between his thighs by mihaly

i swallow the sound and it swallows me whole by @likerealpeopledo-on-ao3

I will catch you, I'll be waiting by iola17 / @beaiola

it’s the pits by @blueink3 and its podfic by @delilah-mcmuffin

Kidnapped by swift_wind

Love in the Time of Appendicitis by @doublel27

My Heartbeat Shows the Fear by @unfolded73

the On Solid Ground series by @trueillusion82

Rose from the Ashes by @likerealpeopledo-on-ao3

tempurpedic deathbed by mihaly

'tis the season (of joy and sorrow) by @flowertrigger

Where the Lovelight Gleams by @distractivate

Who needs sleep by @demora00

You can fall by SweetSirius / @wordthieve

Well, that reading list should keep everyone busy this week! Watch the tags, though—I think some of us might like our hurt/comfort a bit more hurty than others.

Thank you for participating. We'll do this again in a few days!

Please let me know if I missed your rec and need to add it in.

[foldingfittedsheets]

Mattresses, unbeknownst to many, are a lot like cars. Every year new ones roll out, they’re always tweaking and innovating and you’ll never find the same one you loved decades ago when buying a new one.

Where I sold mattresses had a three month return or exchange program for this reason. New beds take a while to break in, and they’re a big expense. Your body is used to the old one. So we made sure people were loving it. If a bed got returned we’d take it back, sanitize and clean it, then sell it again on clearance.

To sell these we always had to disclose what clearance meant to customers, and they had to sign that they knew what they were getting. (FYI, not every company is as… forthright about the used bed situation)

In clearance we had beds that were floor models, we had returns, and more rarely we had old models whose line had been discontinued. These clearance beds were always final sale, so a bed could only be sold twice.

Now, the manager at the store I was working at had realized a vital fact. Clearance beds in the warehouse didn’t sell, especially old models that salespeople weren’t familiar with. And even more especially in odd sizes, like twin extra longs. So he set up a split king on the showroom floor to exhibit clearance beds, pulling all those forgotten twin extra longs out onto the showroom.

Almost all of these were brand new discontinued models. Beds I’d never learned in training were exhumed to be displayed. The manufacturers had moved on to new lines and they’d been left behind. Why would he take such in interest in selling old stock, you might wonder? Because we made double commission on the sales margin of clearance beds, and if we’d had a bed long enough they dropped the cost in the system so it was a fucking cash cow to sell these. Even with huge discounts the commissions were wonderful so it was a win win.

When I got started I was jazzed about this program, I was so on board to sell weird old brand new beds and make a ton of money. I had a wonderful older couple come in, looking for a split king adjustable set. This was a white whale sale.

The current clearance models on the floor were a latex mattress that was brand new despite being of an age to start first grade, and a tempurpedic floor model. The couple laid down and it was like magic. They each loved the bed they’d laid down on. They wanted to buy the whole shebang.

I. Was. Thrilled. I told them about the clearance program and what that meant, and they weren’t bothered in the least. I wrote up the sale then dashed into the back, fizzing with excitement to tell my manager what I’d done.

“You sold the death bed?!” He asked in delight.

I pulled up short, my smile freezing in place. “What…?”

“Didn’t you check the notes?”

I hesitated for a long beat then slowly shook my head. You see, dear reader, all beds had a personal history. Every clearance bed had logs written up by the person who took the return, as well as warehouse crew after sanitizing. It helped us know what to expect when selling them. “Wasn’t it just a floor model? You said it was a floor model…”

He slowly shook his head. I checked the notes.

It turned out, it had been sold as a floor model. The first time. But the company had made an exception and taken it back as a return two months later. Why? Because it’s owner had passed away.

I stared at the computer in horror and my manager shrugged. “They signed the clearance form. Technically it was a floor model.”

“We know for a fact that a man died in that bed!”

“What they don’t know can’t haunt them,” he said philosophically.

The man came back a week later for more sheets, utterly delighted to tell me how well they were sleeping. I clamped my teeth down around the secret of the deathbed, choosing to let them love their new bed without the stigma. Only one person would be haunted by that deathbed, and it was me.