Lately, our bed frame has been squeaking (keep it clean, everyone, keep it clean).
It squeaks on Nordic Boy’s side. A lot. A whole friggin’ lot. Even if he turns over at night, it’s all SQUEEEEEEEK. And I am all SHUT UP BED. And then the bed is all YOU SHUT UP. SQUEEEEEEK.
It has started to drive me crazy.
The other night, I told Nordic Boy, who can sleep through a cymbal-player’s convention, that he needed to fix the dang squeak. (And it is only now, as I am typing this, that I realize just how much I take for granted that Nordic Boy can and will fix whatever I deem fixworthy, and who never ever says to me, as he probably should, FIX IT YOSELF, ARE YOUR ARMS BROKE?).
Anyway. So before we went to bed, he pulled the mattress off for a preliminary look. He did some of his magic, and the squeak went from alarmingly squeaky to timid. Now it is barely a squeak at all.
Since it was after midnight and Nordic Boy hasn’t been feeling so well, we called it good enough for now, and we went to bed. As we drifted off to sleep, this is what we said.
Me: It’s almost gone. But not quite.
Him: Yeah, I’ll fix it tomorrow.
Me: You think it’ll be an easy fix?
Him: Yeah. I just have to oil up the nuts.
Me: (snort, giggle)
Him: Oh geez.