Growing up, I was never one of those kids who received a certificate at the end-of-the-year assembly (read: cupcake and game day) for perfect attendance. I seem to recall being sick a lot. (Technically, I'm 'sick' every day... ZING!). Sick with stomach viruses for which I had to down copious amounts of thick, bubble gum-flavored medicine. Or maybe I was just sick of learning cursive ("Rirruto?"). Who knows. What I do know is I loved me some Price is Right. That pause filled with expectation before the curtain is drawn back and you know it's a new car because there hasn't been one yet in the first half of the show yet. And you hope it's a camper, because when you're 7 a house that's also a car is the coolest. That forced smile by the finalist who passes on the prize package with the his & hers dune buggies, thinking for sure there's a maroon Le Mans waiting in the next one, only to be forced to bid on a living room set that looks like it's straight out of the El Dorado clearance center. (Unless it's the Frat Boy in the UCLA Sigma Chi shirt, because he'll go for the dune buggies every time.)
Point is, as a kid, you have no clue how much anything costs. Rolaids? Um, $20? A washer/dryer? Um, $20?
Fast forward 20ish years. I still have no clue how much things cost. I'm the kind of person who stands in the personal care aisle and instead of looking for the sale tags on toothpaste I stare at all the toothpaste and wonder if grocery stores in, say, Hungary, have as many toothpaste choices. And if they don't (which I imagine is the case), do they come here and pass out from the shock of so many choices? Then I go to the bread aisle and do the same thing. It doesn't help that I have never bought a car for myself (I'm still driving my
graduation present), have never owned a washer and dryer and don't have to feed or clothe anyone but myself. A six-pack of tube socks and Cheerios? Um, $20. This isn't to say I go around just swiping my credit card without looking at price tags. But my price knowledge is more of the T&E variety than the A&P variety. Cocktail at typical SoBe bar? $16. Music festival tickets? $150. Anna Sui dress? $435. NARS lip gloss? $24. Mani/Pedi? $53. Detergent? Um, $20?
Which is why when I recently saw an ad for a mattress sale that boasted financing, I scoffed, "Who needs to finance a mattress [snicker, snicker]?" The last time I bought a mattress, it was in the late '90s at a Rooms To Go clearance center. I can't remember how much it was, but considering it was a decade ago, I'd say $20. I'm now in the market for a new mattress. And now that I have a real job that requires me to have real sleep, not to mention body parts that now get [insert adjective from Aleve commercial here], I figured it was time to invest in a quality sleep system. Upon starting my research, I realized it wasn't going to be as easy as hitting the Mattress Giant and choosing between Sealy and Serta. Do I go for a pillow top? Memory foam? Sleep number? Latex? Do Hungarians have this many choices? And, holy box spring mattresses are expensive. Not like $500 expensive, but like $2,000 expensive. "It's worth every penny;" "This is one purchase you shouldn't cheap out on;" "It's got a 20 year warranty!" my mattress-savvy Facebook friends responded - Tempur-pedic being the resounding vote. So yeah, all of a sudden financing a mattress doesn't seem all that crazy. But at least now I know how much a mattress costs, which means now if I ever go on The Price is Right and get the bedroom set, it's on like Donkey Kong. Wait - how much is wall-to-wall carpeting?
-- miaeditor
