Pssst, come up and check out my bed sometime

We just bought a new mattress -- one of those fancy Tempurepedic models. I'm a little uncomfortable sharing that, but I gather this is the sort of thing we middle-aged folk are supposed to brag about.

I know this because the moment my wife mentioned to friends and co-workers we were in the market for a new one, she was inundated with advice and testimonials. And since we made the purchase, people "ooh" and "aah" when we report what we bought.

So, a high-end mattress apparently is the status symbol of middle age. It's how we keep up with the Joneses or, even better, get ahead of them. I mean, what else is there for us? Home theater systems? Maybe -- though the satisfaction of mine is somewhat diminished by the fact that I can't operate it without my children's help. I kid you not: The last time my wife and I tried to watch a DVD, I had to call one daughter, then the other, to have them talk me through it, like they were air traffic controllers and I was a passenger trying to land a plane for the first time. Once we got the movie going, I banned popcorn and beverage consumption for fear that if I had to pause it for a bathroom break, I'd never get it going again.

Cars? Not likely. Some of us still are in the Minivan Stage of Life and nobody who's in the Minivan Stage wants to talk about it. I mean, once you get past talking up the seat-folding options and cupholder technology, what is there to say? And among those who have moved past the Minivan Stage, very few seem to be buying that status-symbol sports car about which they once fantasized. I do see a couple of guys about my age driving red convertibles in south Lincoln, and I just feel embarrassed for them. Truth be told, they look a little embarrassed, too; there's nothing worse than realizing you've become a cliche. (And yes, I know that driving a minivan is a cliche, too, but it's a practical cliche.)

Our yards? Not really. Most of us who only a few short years ago took such pride in showing off a perfectly groomed lawn or exquisitely pruned rose bush now are thinking of the merits of townhouse living where someone else mows the tiny patch of grass out front.

So, a mattress it is. Did I mention it's a Tempurepedic? Because if I didn't, you need to know that. We upgraded from queen- to king-sized, too. Cost more than our first house. OK, that's an exaggeration. The salesman told me, "This mattress is an investment" -- which I'm sure is what he's trained to say when he sees a customer looking at the price tag with that "WTH, it's just a mattress" look on his face.

As status symbols go, a mattress obviously isn't as satisfying as a car or lawn, which are on display for all to see and envy. Unless you live in a much more swingin' neighborhood than we do, no one's ever going to see your new proudest possession. So, you watch for moments when you can casually mention it in everyday conversation -- as when someone yawns or grimaces as they arch their back, and you're quick to say, "wow, that's what I used to look like before I bought my Tempurepedic mattress."

Meantime, I'm rationalizing the cost by reminding myself that one does spend up to one-third of the day in bed, so maybe this IS an investment. To really get my money's worth, though, I'm thinking of taking all my meals there. Maybe see if I can telecommute and set up my home office on the mattress, too. If I could get up to about 20 hours a day on this thing, I'd feel even better about it.

I'm gonna go lie down now. I can't stand the thought of it sitting there unused.