So this weekend I went with Bridgette to meet her parents in her lovely hometown of Virginia, MN. The trip was great, and I much enjoyed spending time with her family. Everything seemed to be going so well.
Until I tried to go to bed.
Bridgette’s mom is something of an interior decorator extraordinaire, and I can testify that she makes a bed like it’s nobody’s business. Now, this bed I was sleeping in would have perfectly suited anybody in their family, since nobody is taller than about 5’9”. As I layed on it, my legs hung off the bed at the middle of my calves. So that night when I crawled under the covers, I tried to stretch my legs out, but I was unable to because the sheets were tucked in so incredibly tight under the mattress. I swear that her mom must have stapled the sheets to the boxspring because I was completely unable to get them to budge. So there I was, lying in a tiny bed, flopping and flailing trying to get the sheets loose enough to stretch out my legs. My room was immediately next to her parents bedroom, so I was trying to be quiet. I didn’t want to have them think that their daughter’s new boyfriend was some spastic freak who jumped on the bed. I do know that I was kicking and grunting and it literally took me a few minutes to loosen them up.
At that moment, I was not a college-educated, reasonably intelligent person. I was a tired, gigantic man on an undersized bed. I was sweating profusely and my leg muscles were growing wearing from the constant kicking and flopping. When my feet finally broke through the tyrannical sheets and breathed the sweet cool freedom on the other side, I exhaled deeply and fell asleep almost immediately. In the morning, when Bridgette’s mother looked me in the eyes, we each knew of the secret battle that transpired the night before. I had now proven myself to her – I was able to conquer her despotic bed-making. She now knew that her daughter was in capable hands.
Despotic bed-making is a hidden talent if I ever heard of one. Tell Bridge her mom is boss.
Good for you for not kowtowing and curling up into the fetal position.
LOL. Nice Post Peter. I personally can’t handle blankets and sheets tucked into a bed, so the first thing I do is to yank them out. I feel dumb at Hotels, because what is is sheer bedding bliss to me, is complete utter chaos to any Maid that has to reassemble my masterpeice. It then becomes a raging war between Comfort and neatness during my entire stay.
Amen Scotty.
Peter, here’s a tip. Yank the sheets out with your hands before you get in bed. This will keep you from flopping around like a spastic idiot, fighting your own weight on the mattress.
I developed this technique after years of suffering as you have described.
Laura used to do the same thing to me.. when we first got married… until I killed her in her sleep one night.. NOW WHO MAKES THE BED!!!!
That seems quite reasonable, Trey. I would venture to guess that most incidents of domestic violence can be tied to faulty bed-making.
George Costanza had a similar problem once. What a wacky zany time they had getting Lupe the Maid to do one “tuck” and one “no tuck”. Sigh.
In new wedded bliss, I’ve struggled with my husband’s need to have the sheets untucked, much as you have discribed. We fought each other a while. A truce has taken place:
I make the bed with my half tucked in, his side pulled out.
Perfection.
KG, if your marriage is ever going to succeed, you need to learn to hold fast to your principles – comprising what is important to you will lead to moral decay.
Please heed my words.