It’s Saturday morning and the phone rings as I’m making coffee. “Debbie, I can’t find the mattress protector.” Dad bought a new bed this week.
“Didn’t you buy one?”
“I thought so.”
“I’m pretty sure John (my brother) said you did.”
“Louis (his friend) put the bed together for me so I’m not sure what he did and I don’t see it. I want to go over to the store and have them show me what it looks like.”
Pause. “Do you want me to go with you?”
Pause. “Well, that would be ideal. I’m just ready to eat my breakfast. I’ll call you back.”
Todd said to tell Dad to look around for it because It’s probably right there but I called Steinhafel’s instead to check out his order. I didn’t have any success and got totally frustrated with the salesperson. (I found out later he bought it at Mattress Firm.)
After a while, just as I was walking out the door to go to Dad’s, he called back to say he had talked to the store. It was on the bed and things were all straightened out. What he thought was the fitted sheet is also the protector.
“Oh, I was just on my way over,” I said.
“Well, I hate to ever tell you not to come over.”
“Okay, I’ll come over anyway.”
When I got there I had to check it out. All I found was a fitted sheet. “Dad, you were right the first time. It’s not here.” I hear the squeak of his boot as he makes his way down the hall.
“They said it looks like a fitted sheet. It’s there.”
“That is the fitted sheet. You have a mattress pad and a fitted sheet but no protector.” As he walks into the room I notice a small box sitting on his dresser. “What’s this?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t open it.”
I read the type across the front, “Mattress Protector”. We look at each other.
“I guess I should have opened the box.”
I love my dad.