I’ll Show You Who Is in Charge

November 27, 2016

 

I must have had too much caffeine. One day I felt industrious and decided to wash the mattress pad and bedspread. I trundled the two bundles to the commercial laundry, along with ten dollars in quarters. The dime-for-10-minutes-in-the-dryer days are long gone.

 

Back home two hours later, the freshly-laundered mattress pad curled in the middle of the bed like a fist. I looked at it with my hands on my hips. “I am a college graduate and you are a mattress pad. I am sure we can come to some sort of agreement.”  No response.

 

 

 

I’ve Got This Covered

 

“Okay,” I said. “I see you are not going to cooperate. However, I remember from last time that your label goes in the lower right corner of the bed. Show me your label.” I grabbed the still-warm-from-the-dryer pad and began turning it in my hands, trying to find the label. The pad resisted, but finally “Aha! I’ve got you.” I maneuvered that corner of the pad over the mattress.

 

Carefully, I pulled the pad kitty-corner. It was way too short. I obviously mis-remembered which corner the label matched. I moved the label to the upper right side of the bed, stre-e-etched it out and the whole thing popped off the corner. “I see you are determined to be difficult,” I growled. Kneeling on the bed, I tucked the pad in with a vengeance and pulled carefully to the lower left corner. No dice. The pad popped off again.

 

Are You Kidding Me?

 

I stood up straight and looked all around at the walls and ceiling. “Am I on Candid Camera?” But there was no hidden camera.

 

Back to the upper right corner. This time, I pulled over to the upper left. Yes! Carefully, I pulled the pad down to the bottom and anchored it. Finally, victory.

 

An All-Day Project

 

I huffed and puffed as I stuffed our pillows into their cases. The sky was turning pink as I added the freshly-laundered bedspread and then placed the decorative pillows. The final touch was a cozy blanket folded at the end of the bed.

 

Don’t Even Ask

 

Soon, the man of the house opened the door after a busy day in the salt mines. “What did you do today, hon?” he asked as he pecked me on the cheek.

 

“I made the bed,” I snapped at him, and my glare told him not to ask any further questions.

 

“Ooooh, testy, testy,” he soothed. “I’ll make us a drink. Do you want to go out for dinner?”

 

“I’m too tired to go out,” I said. “Let’s order pizza. And we’re sleeping in the guest room tonight. Our bed is too beautiful to sleep in.”

 

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