Considering that the American mainstream seems smitten with a billionaire blowhard bully with bad hair or are so simple that they think the office of president is merely a spokesmodel position with no real power to be filled by whatever politically correct demographic hasn't been properly represented in the office yet, I'm happy to be out of touch. I think being out of touch these days is a sign of not just maturity but actual sanity.
So I'm gonna write about my new sheets, instead.
Just before Christmas, Goodwill had for sale brand new sheet sets of 1200 count cotton. The King size was under $20.00! We sleep on a Queen sized bed but I like King Sized topsheets so Jay and I don't fight over the covers. So I bought some in each size.
I've never owned such soft, lovely bedding.
I hate them.
Yes, the fabric is ridiculously soft. So soft that the stupid sheets wrap themselves around my legs and feet like cling wrap. At my age, I have to toss the covers off myself at least three times a night to cool down and lately I've found myself waking from dreams of being held underwater by an octopus only to be desperately trying to escape those soft sheets!
Sleeping on those sheets is like having a super needy boyfriend who calls me every fifteen minutes to affirm our love for each other. I'd have dumped such a guy's ass within the hour.
My bed sheets' insecurity is ruining my sleep.
AS if that weren't bad enough, I managed to wreck them within a month. I really should have known better.
The problem is my feet.
Everyone who knows me is now nodding with understanding.
For those of you who've never met my feet; they're rough. Rough and calloused. They're so rough they make Donald Trump seem like a pattern card of civility. I've gone barefoot every day of my life and the bottoms of my feet are basically shoes. Shoes with thick, tree bark soles. I once stepped on a thumbtack and didn't figure out what the tapping sound was until I noticed I was leaving blood on floor. Ironically, even calloused, my feet are so ticklish that no one, including Jay, is allowed to touch them. Ever. The exception to this rule is my grand kids, who can do anything and Nana will never kick them.
Anyway: imagine dropping a brick into the foot of your pantyhose. That's what my feet did to those super soft, fine, clingy sheets. By MLK day, they had runs, tears and were covered with pills. They're now about as smooth as my flannel sheets.
Oh, how I hate them.
I'm just glad I didn't splurge on them.
Not everything I get at Goodwill is a good deal.