I confess that a little over a year ago, Mr. H and I bought a bed from a place in North Carolina that makes custom-built mechanical beds. The years are stiffening the both of us up, so the bed was a logical choice. It has dual mattresses with controls to lift the torso or lift the legs or both, like a hospital bed. There’s also a vibration mechanism, just like the old Magic Fingers beds that you used to find in motels, only mine lasts 30 minutes instead of 15, and you don’t need quarters. The vibrations can be soft or more vigorous, and there’s even a wave function. It is indescribable how relaxing that is, and how addicted to it you can become. A push of the button, the soft purr of the motor, the vibration set to soft, harder, or wave, and I’m usually asleep in a couple of minutes.
To be sure, this bed cost only a tiny fraction of that super-duper 50K bed that does everything except sing lullabies to you (and maybe it does that, too). I fully admit, it’s a luxury, an indulgence, even perhaps a bit decadent. But frankly, my dear, for a good night’s sleep, I don’t care.