The eternal question, a battleground of wills, a source of constant, low-grade marital tension: Who makes the bed?
Now, I’m not a monster. I believe in a certain level of domestic order. Dishes get washed (eventually), laundry finds its way to the hamper (sometimes), and the recycling bin doesn’t overflow (usually). But the bed? Ah, the bed.
My wife, bless her heart, is a creature of habit. A meticulous, almost obsessive, creature of habit. And heaven help anyone who dares to disrupt the sacred ritual of bed-making.
“But why?” I plead, “It’s just going to get messed up again in five minutes! We’re mammals, not robots! We sleep! It’s what we do!”
Her response is usually a combination of exasperated sighs, raised eyebrows, and the muttered phrase, “You mess the bed ‘up to much’ not to make it.”
What does that even mean? Does it mean I’m a slob? That I’m incapable of appreciating the aesthetic of a perfectly squared duvet? Perhaps. But frankly, I find the whole endeavor a bit… pointless.
And don’t even get me started on the pillows. A veritable mountain range of them. Decorative pillows, reading pillows, lumbar support pillows… Do we really need a separate pillow for every conceivable position?
But perhaps the most contentious issue is the bedding itself. My wife, bless her again, has a strong liking for high-thread-count Egyptian cotton. Glorious, luxurious, and utterly impractical.
“They’re supposed to be slept in!” I argue, “Not admired from afar!”
She counters with a withering look and a muttered something about “appreciating the finer things in life.”
Of course, I’m not entirely blameless. There are times, I admit, when the bed resembles a particularly chaotic episode of “Hoarders.” Sheets askew, blankets draped haphazardly, the entire ensemble looking like it survived a small earthquake.
“It needs straightening,” my wife will say, her voice tight with barely suppressed fury.
And she’s right. Sometimes, a semblance of order must be restored. But truly, what’s the point?
Perhaps the answer lies in compromise. A truce. A mutually agreed-upon level of “bed-made-ness.” Maybe just a quick tuck of the sheets and a cursory smoothing of the comforter.
Or maybe I’ll just start sleeping on the couch.
Disclaimer: This is a humorous take on a common domestic disagreement. My wife is wonderful, and I love her dearly.
P.S. Good sheets are important. I concede that point.
Here are some good sheets from Amazon you might want to consider.
Leave a Reply