Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Waking Up With a Brazilian

My sister-in-law generously gave me and my husband a set of "T-shirt" sheets in early December as a Christmas gift. Now, I’m generally not the type to look a gift horse in the mouth (not that I’m comparing my sister-in-law to a horse or anything), but I fucking hate these sheets.

I have tried so hard to like these sheets, really I have. I washed them twice, added fabric softener, whipped them with willow branches, ironed them, beat them with rocks, chewed on them till my teeth ached, sang nursery rhymes to them while gently stroking their disgusting little sticky fibers...As you can see, I did everything in my power and beyond (the psychic sheet-whisperer was a total rip-off).

These things are not sheets, they are stretchy, lint-gathering, wrinkly slabs of Satan’s skin that not only make my legs twitch, they remove body hair better than a porn star’s esthetician.

The word “sheets” evokes a sense of crispness, does it not? A feeling of cool smoothness and warm security and slip-slidey comfort. These T-shirt sheets have ruined the associations for me. Now when I think of the word “sheets,” I am reminded of the felt numbers and letters we all used to play with in Kindergarten -- remember those? -- and Kindergarten evokes memories of Heidi Campbell spitting chewed up cookies and milk on my new maxie-skirt, which makes me sad. I am positively devastated as the word “sheets” has long been my personal mantra, used during particularly stressful moments to calm me, give me peace. No more.

Example: this morning was a true test of motherly patience - the boy helped himself to a box of Goldfish (“the snack that smiles back -- until you bite their heads off“), and thought it a grand idea to empty the box onto the floor and dance atop them until they turned to multi-colored cheesy dust. As is usual in times like this, my psyche called upon the “sheets” mantra, but my soul was not soothed by images of soft, clean comfort and promises of bedtime -- instead, I was assaulted with Heidi Campbell and the memory of having woken on devil sheets two weeks ago with a peculiar burning on my genital region, a drafty, unpleasant sensation that caused me to peek under the covers then gasp in horror when I discovered the cause. Yes, you guessed right; my pubic hair had been ripped clean off by the Velcro-like spurs of the T-shirt sheets. You don’t want to know what happened to Lar. Too hideous to describe without retching.

The reason I’m writing about those wicked T-shirt sheets today is that my dryer is in pieces at the moment -- Lar took it apart last night, unbeknownst to me -- and I am not able to wash my good sheets, my nice, friendly, crisp and smooth normal sheets that are balled up on my bedroom floor amongst the rest of the dirty laundry.

I will be forced to sleep upon the devil’s epidermis tonight, and I am filled with dread.

Jesus Christ in a pink pinafore, I was just beginning to look somewhat normal down there, too.

9 Comments:

At 11:00 PM, Blogger Bill said...

When I first moved out from my ex, I got some of those T-shirt sheets by accident. I had them for more than a year. I hated every goddamn second of them. Now I have real sheets. I can be happy now.

Well...happier if someone other than me saw them, but you dig what I'm saying.

 
At 5:55 AM, Blogger Melanie said...

one word: laundromat!

go down, wash the nice crisp smooth cotton sheets, and get your sleeptime back to normal.

My gosh. I wouldn't have waited as long as you have. True patience, i guess that was useful at the time of the Cheese Cracker Crunchy Dust Dance.

Healing Powers to the Hair removal. OUCH!

 
At 8:35 AM, Blogger Ms. Lori said...

So I'm not the only T-shirt sheet hater! Thanks for the commiseration, Bill. I feel so...validated

BTW, if I wasn't so damn happily married, I'd definitely offer my sheet inspection services...If you dig what I'm saying. ;-)

Melanie, I'm thrilled to report that my husband, as if sensing my high anxiety, came home early from work yesterday and fixed the dryer. ***glee***

 
At 10:26 AM, Blogger Alexis said...

I pay alot of money for brazilians - had I known what sheetage you could offer - I'd been up in NY in a flash!!!

I also bought some (Target Sale)and the only thing that came from them was a sloppy looking made bed - in the UK I am usually just happy to try and maintain my core body temp at night - and they just about did that. . .

xxxx

 
At 12:27 PM, Blogger Jas... said...

I've never even heard of T-shirt sheets, but thanks to you, Ms Lori, I am a much wiser man.

 
At 2:43 PM, Blogger Katie said...

This week, I saw some 1000 threadcount sheets in a store. I'm not the type of person to get excited by threadcount, but those sheets were SOFT.

 
At 7:27 PM, Blogger Deek Deekster said...

the devil wants your softness

 
At 3:37 PM, Blogger Ms. Lori said...

Well hell, Alexis, come on up here, anyway!

You're welcome, Jas.

Katie, yes, you most certainly ARE the type to get excited about sheets. Don't be so coy. ;-)

Deek, he did take my softness, and now I'm as prickly as Woody Allen's conscience. :-0

 
At 4:37 PM, Blogger Myfanwy Collins said...

You nearly made me snort wine out my nose with laughing, Ms. Lori. I have these same damn "sheets" and yes, they are pure evil!!!

 

Post a Comment

<< Home