Bedside Tale

I advertised my ‘entire bedroom’ for sale on Gumtree. It now resides 15 kilometres away in another suburb with a delighted new owner.

By ‘entire bedroom’ I mean queen sized bed frame, bedside tables and table lamps. My husband was slightly puzzled when I began moving everything out of our bedroom but agreed that the bed had to go. The jarring creaking from the dodgy frame was grating his nerves too. We never loved it enough to fix. After the delivery, he was uncomplaining that he had to sleep on the floor that night. Or that the entire contents of his bedside drawers were now unceremoniously dumped into a basket on his side of the mattress. He’d done it all before.

Our first bed was one of those parental hand me downs. That finally went to the tip after moving countries and living way past its sell by date. The second was a brand new ensemble that saw us through 14 years and three children until it started to bulge in all the wrong places and quite frankly, lose its bounce.That one was finally discarded during a council curbside collection which I thought was the perfect opportunity to get rid of our old ensemble base.

We slept on our lumpy old mattress on the floor for a while, and I searched in vain for an affordable alternative. In desperation and without much forethought, we eventually bought a family member’s ‘hardly-slept-in’ bed. They failed to mention that it squeaked rather profoundly every time the unsuspecting sleepers rolled over. After a lick of white paint, it looked part French country, part rustic beach shack but there was no denying it was a farce. Even with a makeover, there was no hiding its unspectacular bulk furniture warehouse roots. A new mattress made it slightly more comfortable but no less robust.

We tolerated the bed for years until the very moment when I woke up one morning and decided the bed and co. had to go.

I dressed it rather beautifully complete with decorative cushions and even included the accompanying side tables (second-hand, a testimony to my foray into French linen chalk paint). In generous act, I threw in the colonial style table lamps to compensate for the squeaky bed.

By the looks of things, I undercharged. A dead giveaway was the deluge of calls I received minutes after listing my bedroom for sale. The first caller was happy to buy unseen. She even insisted on paying me right then and there. For $140, who wouldn’t?

So the sale was done and the new bed and accompaniments ensconced in a delighted new owner’s home. My bedroom became hers.

The search began for a new and final bed. The timing, as it happened, was perfect. ‘Solid wooden queen-sized bed frame’ was all that the online ad offered. It was love at first sight. One hundred bucks later and we had sealed the deal.

We collected the frame that same day after a 40-minute drive. A bevy of energetic children of various ages greeted us and their laid back dad brought up the rear. He grinned as he explained he and his wife were upgrading to a king-sized ensemble solely to accommodate the nocturnal visits from their four young charges. Their old bed had been a gift from the children’s grandmother, so parting was bittersweet. I loved that it was loved.

Back home our grand new bed was ceremoniously assembled. It was a bed with substance. Sturdy and solid as the ad inferred. It had a few minor marks and knocks etched into the solid legs and bed head. It told the story of busy young children, family and life. A bed built to last – a bed that would sit quite comfortably in an old farmhouse.

The first night’s sleep was sound as the bed. Not even a gentle creak. Even the morning view outside was more profound from its lofty height. I rather think it’s going to be a keeper … definitely a bed tale with a happy ending.


Jessamy Owen is a freelance writer for JournoNews.