If you did something years ago that is now causing problems in the life you want to have, is there anything you can do about it now? Yeah, that’s what I thought.
I haven’t been poor for my entire life. At least not poor like I am now.
There was that month twenty years ago when I had about $300 of disposable cash. It wasn’t a normal state for me. I was desperately uncomfortable having money that wasn’t immediately due on some bill, so I got rid of it as soon as I could.
I purchased two sets of 1800 count Egyptian cotton sheets.
After living on 350 count Wally World sheets for most of my life, these sheets were like heaven on earth. They were glorious. They felt like silk against my deprived body. The were cool and smooth and didn’t crease at the wrinkles. I didn’t wake up bleeding from the scratches other sheets cause. I didn’t find little dead threads all over the bed when I changed the linens. There were no tiny holes where my toe nails touched the delicate sheets. I thought they were perfect.
I still have those damn 1800 count Egyptian count sheets. Both sets. They have now been washed approximately 1040 times each, or more and they are in perfect, nearly mint condition. The stupid suckers won’t die. They don’t sprout tiny tears. They don’t rip. They don’t fray. They don’t get those little pilly things aka balls of thread. They don’t wear thin – anywhere.
I am tired of them.
I hate the colors. I hate the patterns. I hate the fact that the suckers won’t wear out.
I blame them for my chronic insomnia.
The way these sheets last my children will find me dead on them and they will still look like brand new.
I want new sheets.
I understand that purchasing quality pays for itself in the long run, but d-a-a-a-a-m-n. Is there no limit to the life of these things? For all I know that’s how King Tut was preserved. His shourd was made of 1800 count Egyptian cotton and nothing gets through them. Not floods. Not sandstorms, And certainly not haints.
I expected the sheets to last longer than the six months use I got out of the less expensive brand, but twenty years? Really? I don’t remember the label saying lifetime warranty on them. Everything, and I do mean everything, has an expiration date.
The sheets were purchased when the bedroom was a beautiful rose color. It’s not anymore. It’s now a deep forest green. I want color coordinated sheets. I want no patterns. I want anything but these twenty year old sheets. These damn sheets are older than my mattress. They may be older than the bedroom set. In a few years they will be older than me.
At year fifteen in their life, which, by the way, is longer than my dog lived, I was anticipating their demise. I purchased new sheets in new colors and a lesser thread count. I went with the 1400 count this time. I went with purple. I went with zebra stripes. I figure these will be the last sheets I rest my head on so I got exactly what I wanted.
I haven’t used them yet.
My frugal parents taught me never to waste so I am unable to open the package of new sheets and put them on the bed while the other sheets still live.
I have contemplated sheet homicide. I have considered bleaching them to death. I have considered hanging them out to dry and saying they were stolen in the night. I thought about tying them to the back of the car, load them with rocks and drive up and down gravel and dirt roads, but with my luck they would simply need a good washing. I have random dreams of their revenge on me. It’s not a pretty sight.
Once again on a dismal weekend I will take the old, but new looking sheets, from the bed and replace them with the other set of old, but new looking sheets. I will launder the old, but new looking sheets, and pray for a malfunction in one of the machines.
I’ve seen laundry eaten before.
It could happen.
From the Life and Mind of Wanda M. Argersinger
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