I have met my white whale. My quest to vanquish an enormous, intimidating beast was fraught with peril and, sadly, heartbreaking defeat.
I swear I gave it everything I had. I wrestled. I punched. I stomped. I cursed. I wailed and even thought a trip to the ER was going to be necessary.
But it was all for naught. The beast didn’t give up and at the end, I had nothing left but to admit I had lost. I had literally been brought to my knees and subjugated.
It all began on a Sunday morning that was full of promise. The sun was shining and the house smelled like bacon and hot maple syrup. All the signs pointed to it being a delicious day.
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Before I began eating my breakfast I popped into my daughter’s room to grab her laundry hamper and that’s where the journey began.
On the floor of her bedroom was a behemoth that was so large it almost covered her entire 8-by-10 foot polka-dotted area rug. Being a mother, I, of course, knew what needed to be done. That sprawling brute had to be taken down.
Maybe it was the adrenaline talking, but at first I thought I could not just do it, but do it quickly. It just seemed like it would be so easy to pull the plug on this brute and maybe it would have been if I hadn’t tripped.
I was on my back flailing as the creature whooshed out air and entrapped me in a cold, slimy, poly-vinyl chloride embrace. I thrashed and gave it a right hook and then a left, but I still couldn’t get free. Finally, I escaped. The beast look deflated and I thought I had triumphed.
But my victory wasn’t complete. Although, I had beaten the air out of it, I still had to remove the thing from my child’s room. As I was contemplating if it would be better to roll it up or fold it I spied a small pouch.
Was this the conduit in which this now collapsed creature had been transported? It couldn’t be, could it? Why the pouch wasn’t even as big as a Ziploc freezer bag. How did something that measured almost 8-by-10 feet fit into something that small?
Did this thing consuming floor space in my child’s room have magical properties? Was there a shrinking spell that needed to be cast? My mind was officially boggled.
I decided to abandon thoughts of sorcery and apply logic. Surely, this could be accomplished with some sort of precision folding.
I was going to go “full mom” on it. For standing before you is a human that graduated, with honors, from the Martha Stewart school of fitted sheet folding. (OK, that’s a small exaggeration. I watched a YouTube video, but if Martha had been standing next to me, she would have been impressed.)
I first smoothed the surface, then I began using geometry to crease and fold and then crease and fold some more. Eventually, I had gotten the beast as small as possible. My fingers ached and my carpel tunnel had been aggravated, but it was worth it. I was going to jam the bad boy back into that pouch.
Except I didn’t. I was fought every step of the way. No matter what I did — from trampling it to trying a system of space-saving pleats — nothing worked. Not threats, not curses, not even almost dislocating my shoulder by exerting so much shoving pressure did the trick.
In the end I had no choice, but to bow before the king size air mattress and its storage pouch declaring it my master and overlord forever. I had been conquered by an inflatable bed.
Reach Sherry Kuehl at snarkyinthesuburbs@ gmail.com, on Facebook at Snarky in the Suburbs, on Twitter at @snarkynsuburbs and snarkyinthesuburbs.com.