I pride myself on being relatively low maintenance. It’s always one of the things Ben claims he loves the most about me.
But, not in bed.
And, that has nothing to do with intimacy. It, however, has everything to do with my relationship with bed sheets.
I’m a nightmare. I can’t even tell you how many times, during the course of the night, that I secretly make and remake at least my side of the bed. And, if I get lucky, I can sneak in some more work if Ben gets up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
I just absolutely cannot focus on relaxing if the sheets are disheveled. There is nothing worse to me than the feeling on my feet of a flat sheet that is scrunched up and out of line with the blanket on top of that sheet. It’s disgusting and I can’t even take it. My feet don’t even know what to do.
I feel like my body is getting smothered, like I’m being punished and tortured. I think I actually start sweating when things get that bad.
And, I swear to God my torn labrum and rotator cuffs all began with me trying to eternally try and pull the damn bedspread back up to where it belongs towards the top of the bed instead of creeping off the foot of the bed like it’s slowly trying to break free from captivity. I’m not even kidding, I think our bedspread weighs close to 25 pounds.
When Ben’s traveling and I have the bed to myself, I will barely pull the corner down as I go to get in bed at night, I sleep like a mummy on my back with my arms pinned to the sides of my legs, and my legs are glued together like a freaking nun. The best part of the whole thing is that when I wake up in the morning, I verrrry carefully sneak out of that tiny corner so as to not so much as wrinkle one square inch of bedding…making it so that I don’t even need to “make” the bed. It’s still made from the night before, I just need to lay the corner back down…and, I’m done.
DROP the mic.
What? Stop it.