I hate making my bed although I do most days. I hate changing my sheets although I do with vague regularity, I like how fresh sheets feel. I hate doing laundry, I hate ironing, I hate folding laundry. All my socks are the same so I don’t have to match them up. Why would you fold underwear? They’re underneath clothes. So it is a mystery to me why I decided to iron my sheets.
I love these sheets. They are the nicest ones I own and somehow, after the Packer defeat last Sunday, I ended up ironing them before I put them onto my bed. Call it displacement activity. Once I started, the misery of ironing came back to me like a slap in the face with a pineapple but I couldn’t stop. When I slid into bed that night it was heaven. The bad news is that the feeling only lasts for a day or two. And then it’s back to plain ol’ regular sheets that I’ll get around to replacing sooner or later. With some other not-ironed sheets.
