So I’ve been given the go-ahead on the electro-sheet!
Wow, you say! What happened? What made your husband change his mind? Was it research he did? Research you did? The depth and genius of your blog post on the subject?
None of the above.
Rather, Mike received an e-mail from a friend — one whose opinion he trusts (ahem, more than mine, apparently). Said friend had read my post. She offered a resounding endorsement of earthing sheets — said they had increased her energy level, dramatically improved her sleep, even cured her of tinnitus! Tinnitus! Anyway, she couldn’t say enough good things about them, and begged Mike to buy me one right away.
“Well,” Mike said, upon reading this missive. “I guess I was wrong…”
Angels! Trumpets! Harps! I saw my sheet floating towards me, bathed in celestial light, resting gently on a bank of gold-flecked clouds, surrounded by lambs and bluebirds. And — OK — smelling slightly of static.
Mike interrupted my reverie. “Go ahead and get one if you want.”
That’s the good news. No more objections from my spouse. Let me be clear: he would’ve let me get it in any event — what is this, the 1950’s? — but might have insisted upon sleeping on the couch once it was installed. Now domestic bliss can be maintained!
The bad news is that we’re out of money. For this month, at least. We’ve already spent our disposable income — such as it is — on dry-walling the garage. Next month we need to buy a garbage disposal. The following month, a water filter. In other words, I’m looking at getting my earthing sheet somewhere around Memorial Day, assuming nothing else in the house breaks between now and then. Talk about your long shots.
But speaking of long shots, there is one way it could happen faster. If it comes through I could be grounded as soon as, well, Earth Day! How fitting!
You see, we found a little money in an ancient passbook savings account of Mike’s (if you’re younger than 35 you will have no idea what this is — don’t bother finding out. Stupid and obsolete.) We are trying to get it, but the process has proved annoying, stressful, and torturous. It requires sending the bank a letter asking for our money, along with the original passbook for the account. Which, in my opinion, qualifies as an antique and therefore oughtn’t be put anywhere but a museum. But the bank wants it. And we want our money.
And Mike, who saves everything, has the passbook! Yes! Or did, until he took it out to send it. Then he lost it. In the house. After holding on to it for eleven years.
We’ve been looking for it for two weeks.
If we find it, (somewhat unlikely), the bank will — hopefully — eventually — please, God!! — let us have our money. An extra $800! I’ll be able to afford the grounding sheet! Hell, I can get the grounding shoes, too! I could buy a whole grounded ensemble! There’s probably the cutest little hat with a lightning bolt on it! All of which we’ll need even more at that point due to the exhaustion, stress, and profound frustration that all of this red-tape wrangling will have caused us.
But seriously? I’ll be happy with just the sheet. Someday. In the meantime, no rest for the weary. I may be tired, I may be disorganized, I may be electronically compromised, but I still have a toddler to watch, a house to clean, and a *#%!^&* passbook to find.