In Happier News….

(NOTE: Based on time elapsed since the posting of this entry, the BS-o-meter calculates this is 16.884% likely to be something that Ferrett now regrets.)

Yesterday, our girlfriend Bec got us our matching Christmas presents.  And this immediately ensued:

Yes, I know – as jenphalian, that crazy SCA nut told me, my form is horrible, I’m leading with my face, I don’t care.  I’m using JEDI MIND POWERS, forcing Gini back with MY BRAIN.  And then we made a very Christmassy display:
Christmas at Chez McJuddMetz
Also, thanks to some Christmas financial assistance from Mom, I got my main gift of a king-sized bed.  From a mattress expert.
SIDE NOTE: Seriously, what is it about mattress stories?  If you’d asked me, I’d told you there was maybe one mattress store in all of Cleveland.  But the minute I started seriously thinking about purchasing mattresses, suddenly there was a goddamned mattress emporium on every corner.  They must have teleported in at my psychic beckoning; surely, I can’t be that oblivious.
But this store held a goddamned mattressing wizard.  She took us to the bed we’d requested to see, a quilted brick, and then carefully showed us to the bed we wanted.  She accurately predicted the kinds of pains and aches we’d have if we slept on the bed we had, guessed our bed’s age within two years, discussed how the hips work when you’re lying down.  When she was done showing us through, I had no choice but to buy a bed to reward her.
So what did we get?  A king-sized latex mattress with an inch-and-a-half thick top to support our fat bodies.  The Mattress Queen loves fat people.  Apparently, skinny people lay on all kinds of mattresses and can’t feel a difference because they weigh as much as a leaflet, but fat people?  Fat people know the distinction.  She can sell to fat people.  And so she did.


  1. jenphalian
    Dec 15, 2011

    Yeah, when gunpowder stops working and the planes fall out of the sky or whatever, then you’ll be knocking on my door, all, “oh noes Jen we never learned how to swordfight properly how will we survive?!” Then you’ll be sorry you called me a nutter….

    • TheFerrett
      Dec 15, 2011

      Nonsense. I’ll be a beekeeper. That’s my post-apocalyptic plan. They can kill me, but then they won’t have honey for bread or mead, and where will they be then? Stung. That’s where they’ll be.

      • jenphalian
        Dec 15, 2011

        Well… that might work out. Okay.

      • ShawnJ
        Dec 15, 2011

        Not to mention you’ll have one of the only ways that they can get their crops pollenated.

  2. ada
    Dec 15, 2011

    Thanks for mentioning your post apocalyptic plan. It’s made me realize that my hobby of making wine and mead is an important skill that might keep me alive someday .

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