"Can I borrow your stethoscope?"
"Why?"
"To see if I can hear where the air is leaking out of my bed."
"... It's in my bookbag."
That's right. My air mattress sprang a leak. Well, actually it sprang two. And no, the stethoscope didn't help.
Friday during the day, at some point, for some reason, my mattress started to deflate. And it wasn't very quick. Man Friend and I thought we'd take care of it later. And after waking up in a V-shape three times Friday night, two of those times with our butts pressed against the floor, I decided it was a imperative we find some sort of something to fix the leak.
At our SECOND Dick's (because the first was too small - ie. worthless), we found a repair kit for inflatable mattresses, granted not MY brand of mattress but our next best option was gorilla tape, which, rumor says, is stronger than boring old duct tape.
So at 2 in the morning I started attempting to patch my hole. Hehe. Get it? My hole as in MY hole. I'm not immature AT ALL.
Man Friend's version of helping involved staying out of the way, much the same method of helping I use with cars.
So now hopefully both my holes are closed for good (or at least dramatically slowed), because I had to get up last night at 2 to blow up my bed. And not blow in a good way.
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2 comments:
What can I say about your latest adventure? No really. What can I say?
If you guys want to drive out you can have our extra bed. We are moving so it is going into storage.
Sneaky attempt at a visit and a hand with moving? Yes, shamelessly, yes.
I HAVE a real bed. It's at mom and dad's. Nobody wanted to borrow a truck to get it back down here a mere two weeks after they'd moved me out of the place.
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