Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Cut this sheet out. Right now.

The extra folds of fabric cling to the bottom of my legs like saran wrap against the wet top of a potato salad.  Every time I roll I tangle myself more and more between loose layers of white jersey.  What had once been snug, soft and smooth is now a saggy, ballooning excess of sheet.

For some reason unknown to me, E and I thought it would be a good idea to put our old king size t-shirt sheets on our queen size bed.  All the queen size sheets were in the dirty laundry pile--err--wash.  I'll just tuck them in tighter, I thought, it will be fine.  Yeah, that didn't exactly work out.  Cut to me, cocooned in a straight-jacket of excess fabric, struggling like an angry meal worm atop the one corner of fitted sheet that WILL NEVER STAY UNDER THE MATTRESS.

Needless to say I have sheet-related rage.  There are few things I love more than my bed (and pardon the pun), but last night I decided that I was so done with this sheet.

I've been meaning to write about my sheety angst for a few days.  I even wrote about it in my super-swanky new idea notebook:  9/25  Baggy sheets.  Saran wrap.  Hate.

Photo on 2011-09-27 at 19.42
This notebook is so cute that any idea written inside is guaranteed to be genius.
I felt like I couldn't write about it until I did something about it, though.  Today at promptly 3:00 I smoothed a nice tight layer of pale-green-and-high-thread-count cotton across my mattress.  All better.

While we're on the subject of the great mysteries of nature, I wonder this:  why is my love of fresh clean sheets the direct inverse of how much I loathe changing them?  One would think that an affinity for clean sheets would come with a complimentary and eager attitude when it came to their installation.

Not so.

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