In: decision

The day I put Greg in the care home I decided to get a new bed. That was more than three years ago. A couple of springs were sticking up through the mattress cover, and the less said about stains, the better. I switched over to the inflatable guest bed--quite comfortable, actually, but the cats didn't care for it, and I didn't really trust their claws near it. On really sleepless nights, I sacked out in the recliner. I read articles on the internet about mattress-buying tips, I tested out mattresses at Macy's, and I watched the ads. But I just couldn't make the actual decision. Did I want another queen-sized bed, even though I had been sleeping in less than half of it? A full-sized bed? A twin? Firm, plush, pillow-topped, innerspring, foam, temperpedic? Prices varied by a factor of ten. Too much choice and a sense that I had to make the perfect choice completely paralyzed me. Then one day (today in fact) I decided to decide and live with the decision for awhile, but change my mind if it turned out to be the wrong choice. What a concept! My new bed will be delivered Wednesday. They'll haul the old one away. That's what I really wanted!