This summer The Mister and I had to get a new mattress. Although I was excited to go from sleeping in a little ditch on my side of a defective pillow top to brand new Tempur Pedic cloudy goodness one thing about the whole experience made me sad. Since The Mister and I share a bedroom on the second floor of a 70 year old house with a narrow staircase, getting our new king-size bed upstairs was a bit tricky. One of the things we had to do was remove everything lining the wall of the stairway so the delivery people could attempt to navigate the mattress up the stairs. For most people this wouldn't be such a big deal because it would entail removing maybe 1 or 2 pictures. Alas, the staircase leading to the second floor of my house is home to one of my favorite collections, one that, no matter how much de-cluttering and purging I make myself do I will not part with: my mask collection. In order for our new bed to be delivered it had to come down.
So down the masks came and down they stayed, for the mattress delivery and the better part of the 90 day trial period we were given to decide whether or not we wanted to keep the mattress. Then, when Little Tiger, The Milk Belly Princess and I arrived home from church this past Sunday, we returned to find The Mister rehanging all of the masks. I was thrilled because I could once again gaze upon all of the false faces, both beautiful and freakish that I've amassed over the years. The Milk Belly Princess was pleased because she once again has noses to honk every time she goes up and down the stairs.
My favorite mask is the one just below the mask that is wearing Little Tiger's beach hat. The face is made from the shell of an armadillo and the eyebrows and beard are porcupine quills. It was a Christmas present from my parents who bought it at the auction for the estate of a CSU professor.