No Sheet!

We had these new expensive sheets but they had this no-iron protection. They felt almost silky at first, but then later, it was like sleeping in a plastic garbage bag. Of course, I don’t give a damn about wrinkled sheets. They were just pretty and who in the hell irons their sheets, anyway? Oh, you do?! Sorry.

That’s just weird.

Hoarder at heart, Jack hates to admit that anything is a waste of money, but I was burning up in these things! I could throw the sheets off, but then I needed something because the spring weather was actually a bit chilly. I’m hot natured so Jack kept attributing my complaints of temperature to the inevitable—hormones. This went on for a few days after I put these sheets on the bed, when finally he says to me, “You know what? These things just don’t breathe.”

“Thank you!” I say. “Good grief, I’ve been waking up sweating like a fat girl sunning in polyester.” (No offense to fat girls; I believe I am one.)

So finally, I can give these expensive sheets the 86 (“Get rid of it” in restaurant slang) and put on some nice 100 percent cotton sheets with no bells or whistles.

So I’m talking to him the next day. He’s called me and I ask, “So how was your sleep without those suffocation sheets?”

In his low, booming voice he replies, “It was great! I woke up with a smile on my face! In fact, I didn’t even want to get out of bed this morning.”

I say, “Um, Jack, are you in the car?”

“No,” he announces. “I’m in my cubicle at work!”

“Do you think possibly that what you just said, really loudly I might add, could be interpreted in a different way?” I ask diplomatically.

He pauses, laughs out loud and then states in an even higher volume, “Those are some really great sheets! We need to get some more of those sheets. I really enjoyed them!”

I know he’s trying to correct things, but it’s not working.

“Okaay,” I say. “I’m hanging up now.”