My mother suddenly and with no warning announced she wants her bed back.
She did this two evenings ago, as I was preparing dinner. Her tone was not very nice.
She: "Delia, I have to have my bed back. I've been suffering horribly ever since you took it away."
My internal response was to shrivel up and writhe in pain. Externally, I tried very hard to show nothing.
Every few months we go through this. The last time she brought it up, she was jealous I'd bought a nice bed frame for my daughter. At that time, I told her I'd happily buy her a new single mattress of her choice, but that she couldn't have her old mattress back because it doesn't fit in her room.
She agreed, but then the next day, told me she didn't need a new bed. This is the way the conversation goes, every single time she brings it up, which has been dozens of times in the last three years.
The time before that, she did the same thing. She has fits about needing her bed back. The bed that I "took away from her." The bed that is "my life," as she creepily put it, once.
Then, when I tell her her old bed won't fit into her room, but that we can buy her the best new mattress in the whole darn world, she backs off and refuses the new mattress option.
I have no idea what is going on in her itsy, bitsy, deranged, angry brain, but it's driving me to distraction.
So what did I do this time? I offered exactly the same option. I told her she'd been here for almost three years now. That her bed is fine, but that every once in awhile, her back aches because the lower discs are degenerating. This is what her doctor has told us. I added that we would be pleased to buy a new mattress for her.
She denied she's lived here for three years.
And then she snarled at me. Literally. Her lip curled and a demonic sound came out of her mouth. Of course, no one else was around to witness this. She is WAY too smart to act like that in front of Anthony.
I avoided her the entire next day. This was the only thing I could do to get her off my back. Besides, she is scaring me with this nonsense.
But I'm stuck. I know it will come up again. And again. And again.
Here's the thing: when she moved here three years ago, we squeezed her bed into her room. That was at her demand, even though it was obviously too large for the room.
Two days later, she insisted Anthony haul it out and replace it with a single bed. He did. "My bed is too big for this room," she pronounced. Really? Just like we told you?
Three days later, she demanded we put her bigger bed back into the room. That's when she made the "my bed is my life" comment. Shudder.
And he did. Poor long-suffering Anthony. Of course,you know what happened then. Two days later, she gave Anthony a simpering smile, admitting that we were correct in that the bed was too big for the room.
"I can't even open my dresser, Anthony!" she mooed. Oh, really.
And she asked him to switch everything around again. Which he obligingly did, albeit with gritted teeth.
So we're not doing it again. If we move her bed back into her room, it will still be too large. She will still not be able to open her dresser, or fit around the bed to get at her bedside table. And then, she will ask us to switch it back again.
So what's the problem, you ask? Just refuse to switch it back, right?
Ah my poor, innocent readers. How little you understand Sally's abilities to drive one insane with her persistent, simpering, demanding whining.
So we are stuck in a mobius strip of dilemma. Over and over, the bed issue will arise. Any attempts to deal with it will fail.
I am scared. Very, very scared.