Three Sheets to the Wind

Three Sheets to the Wind

There’s a new show on television about hoarding. I like to watch it because it makes me feel so much better about my house and helps me justify anything I want to keep, because at least, whatever I have, I’m not a hoarder! I can still walk through my house and be walking on carpet the whole time.

But my claim of not being a hoarder is challenged every January by the White Sales. All the stores sell beautiful bedding sets and every woman loves fresh, beautiful, new bedding. It livens up the whole room and motivates you to make other changes in the room or house.

And here’s where the hoarding comes in. There’s nothing harder for a gal to let go of than old sheets. Sheets, like a Thanksgiving turkey, have many incarnations before they are gone.

First, if it’s a complete sheet set, it becomes a back up set. You wash it and set it on the shelf for company. The “company sheets” are always a complete set. If one piece gets lost, ruined, or mislaid, the remaining components are relegated to the second incarnation of becoming bedding for the kids. You make a passing attempt to match one of the orphaned components, like a top sheet or pillow case, with the Spiderman or Mermaid sheets the kid has. You keep this semi-matching thing going as long as you can.

Soon after the kids get the sheets, you witness the third use of orphaned sheets; sheets make tents. Suddenly, tents are all over the house. You can’t have dinner at the dining room table anymore because Superman’s Fortress of Solitude is in your living room. It might also be Aladdin’s Cave of Wonders, or Batman’s Bat Vault, whatever it is, it is impenetrable by parents. You slip food and beverages under the edges for the occupants inside who are officially invisible as they plot the takeover of the world surrounded by four wooden chairs and a canopy of Laura Ashley flowers.

After tents, orphaned sheets become part of pet bedding. Sometimes we throw them over the couch where the dogs lie, and sometimes we fold them up and make a pad in the dog bed. It takes about two years for sheets to arrive at this fourth level.

The fifth level of a sheets life splits off here. Some cover old cars in the garage. Some get ripped up for rags in the garage. And some, the ones with the most life left in them, or the prettiest, become beach blankets. If you want to know a woman’s taste without asking her, look at her beach blankets.

“Sally, where did you get this hideous sheet?”
“What hideous? These are genuine Versace knockoffs. You don’t like red floral's?”
“It hurts my eyes. Was this a gift set? You didn’t buy these on purpose...”
“I love this sheets. I couldn’t bear to part with them. This is the last time I can enjoy them.”
“Thank God.”
”What?”
“I said, “That’s odd.” I meant what a shame. They must have been really bright when they were new.”
“They were gorgeous. Lit up the whole room all night long. I love red.”
“Only you.”
“What?”
“I said, “What’s new?”