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There was nothing quite like being a bachelor in New York City.  Period.  And, to continue, there was nothing like coming home to our fifth floor walk-up brownstone apartment from a very late date or a night out with the boys—hoping for a very late date—and falling immediately into your very own pre-rumpled sack.  Like wine, the bedding seemed to get friendlier and better as the days went by.  Sheets thrown back and awaiting your collapse into their creased embrace; pillow, dented as you left it in the morning with a convenient hole to plunk your head into for the remaining few hours of the night.

 The first notion that life was going to change significantly crept into my awareness when I was laid up with the flu for a week.  My newest female friend insisted on coming to my apartment to assist in my recuperation.  Her first encounter with the “Rancid Pit of the Eastside”, as she called my digs, may be expressed in one word, “GAAACK!”  At that time I was living with a couple of roommates and we collectively financed a once a week cleaning lady named Louise.  She was stern faced, rawboned, and rangy.  She could have played forward for the New York Knicks.  Together she and my current wife attacked me, my bedroom, and all of its contents.  As an inventory control measure I was in the habit of keeping my clothes tastefully arranged around my room on whatever resting place was suitable. I explained that the selection process was easier.  Now, there was a doomed practice!

 Shortly after the “Rancid Pit” visitation by Louise and the woman who became known as Wife, she and I made it all legal and, contrary to a trend sweeping the nation way back then, we actually got married before living together.  At that point, the Sunday ritual of laundering and changing sheets and remaking the bed was implanted in my life.  We bought a bedspread which was so heavy that spreading it on our Cal-King bed endangered my back every day – yes, part of the submission process was actually making the bed every day.  Who knew?

 Years later we discovered faux silk comforters. light weight (great for the back), warm, and above all colorful.  The design opportunities are super.  Since a bed is the largest single piece of furniture in a home and it is central to the “tour of the house” room, it should be a visual pride and joy.  Stripes, geometric shapes, patchwork, corduroy, colors galore are all available.

 I was allowed, by Herself, to have an opinion in the selection process and I found a really great comforter full of color, and stripes, and about as masculine as I could get away with. It sets the tone for the entire room.  Six and one half seconds to float the comforter across the bed adjusting it in flight to land perfectly.  Then chuck the two big sham covered pillows and walk.  Done!

 Two things I’ve learned from all of this.  I love sleeping in clean sheets.  A colorful comforter makes you want to go to bed.