Despite how much my dear husband drives me nuts because of our intrinsic, biological differences, I adore the man. I couldn't see myself waking up beside anyone else.
Wait. Will Smith. Vin Diesel. And Brad.
No, seriously, though. There are just those mundane things that come up in everyday life that I just have to learn to deal with. One of those things is the unmade bed.
I have to make it. Like everyday. Or else I feel....unclean.
Cuz to me, there is nothing more delicious than opening up your neat and tidy bed and sliding into some soft, cool, crisp sheets. And the only way you are going to achieve that is making your bed first thing in the morning.
This is something my mama always taught me. Good, clean sheets (both fitted and flat unless you are a heathen). Your big, soft blanket with a tiger on it that you bought in Ensenada. Your quilt and/or duvet...shams...bed skirts....the assortment of pillows. It's all good. A lady always has a nice, clean bed with proper linens.
So I have tried to adhere to her rule for as long as I can remember.
But my dear one. Oh, my dear one. When we first started dating, his bed consisted of the mattress and all of his clean laundry piled on top of it. I don't know if he had pillows or sheets because of that mountainous laundry pile. But at the time I was lovestruck...luststruck. And I clearly remember thinking, at least it's clean.
So to him, it doesn't really matter if the bed is made or not. It's not a priority. He will make it to humor me but not because he feels it should be made, for sanitary purposes.
"Ooooh, the bed looks so good right now!" He will say on Sundays, usually the only day the bed doesn't get made.
And then I will wrinkle up my nose in response, thinking about the leftover eye mocos, feet crust, dust mites, food crumbs, my long hair which I seem to lose at an alarming rate and Michael's taco meat which looks suspiciously like pubes.
Ahhhhh, no. It sooo doesn't good right now.
My bed-making dictatorship stands for the entire household of six beds. The chil'rens are funky enough as it is, and so are their rooms. String cheese wrappers under the bed and dried boogers on the wall, much to my horror. The only three occasions when I relax my stance: illness, Sunday mornings (because I am fighting for dear life to get out the door to go to church before the chil'rens unravel themselves), and childbirth/recovery. And that last one ain't happenin' anytime soon so there are no excuses, really.
So I've just resigned myself and added this onto the list of things that shall forever make my dear one an enigma to me.
1.) He likes Top Ramen.
2.) The fact that he can't remember the gas tank is on E in the middle of the 91 freeway but he knows where the reciept is for the time he bought his first child some diapers at Rite Aid in 1995.
3.) You risk decapitatation if you ask him any questions while he is installing a curtain rod and/or working on the car.
4.) He can fall asleep anywhere, anytime.
5.) Despite my best efforts...loves an unmade bed.
I still love you, dear.
