Question: How do you lose sleep while snoozing on the most comfortable bed in this universe and possibly all the alternates, too? Answer: Spend $8600 on it. Considering you slept just fine on the fraternity house couch that hosted more parties than minutes you've been alive, is it worth it? That depends.

When You're This Finicky. . .

 It might be worth buying a Chinese kidney and hawking it at Christie's New York to afford the most expensive bed if you suffer from the following:

Wrinkled Sheet Madness 

WSM is marked by the fact that you can literally feel the ridge of every crease and wrinkle in your linens because nobody ironed them. Although most folks can sleep easily on sheets left in the dryer for a month, to you, bedding down on unpressed linens is exactly like sleeping on razor wire.

Skewed Pillow Syndrome 

SPS drives you to spend the first hour of your night adjusting your pillow position until the exhaustion of it overcomes you. SPS also covers a host of sub-conditions, such as:

  1. Pajama Wrap Disease — when your buttons refuse to stay lined up down the front of your body and the leg seams slump over your knees.
  2. Irritable Photon Syndrome — when you detect a solitary stray particle (or wave, if you're one of them) of light streaking across the room while your eyes' lids are glued shut with the balls gazing at your prefrontal cortex.

. . . And Affordable Beds Just Won't Do. . .

The closed-cell foam idea took the slumbering world by storm decades ago, but the only folks who could stand the heat were those whose abductions lasted most of the night. If clinical trials took less time, the bed-headed scientists at Tempurpedic could have developed memory foam mattresses that don't cause self-dousing spontaneous combustion much sooner.

However, eventually, the guys at Tempurpedic figured out that if they just layered a little blue goo into their beds, why, you could rip out the Zs for a couple of hours at a time. In the winter. With the heat off. And the windows open.

But they had a couple of other issues to pound out, too:

  1. The Soft Bed Slurp — where it sucks you up like a noodle in Campbell's Chicken Soup, and
  2. The Granite on Concrete on Bedrock Flex — where your body lies on top of the bed like a Barbie Doll on the sidewalk.

Mind you, the Tempurpedic brain trust worked out those problems pretty well without requiring compensation along the lines of the Pentagon budget. But reasonable models lack the silk-cashmere blend mattress cover and a couple of other features the picky sleeper desperately needs.

. . . Then You Must Have the Tempurpedic GrandBed™

With the GrandBed, you get fifteen inches of got-it-just-right cushioning, which includes a top 1.5-inches featuring blue goo mixed right in with the viscoelastic polyurethane foam. It won't make taco filling out of you, roast you like a hot dog, provide a suitable place to park your tour bus or iron your sheets. It will, however, perfectly fill the gaps along your length and require a forklift to move if you go bankrupt buying it, forcing to you live under a bridge. 

With this outrageously expensive bed, you better hope the aliens visit often. You'll need someone to wake you up so you don't wet it.