Gnarley

Every morning the fitted sheet is off its post and tangled under and around me in a makeshift burrito. Don't make me tell you what horrible reverse-roll actions are required to extricate myself from its grip or the perplexed expression on my face at the total assault of comforter, sheet and pillows. I mean, it's good no one is there.

This has been going on for about 2 months, so frequent in fact that on days I get up and don't see the mattress quilting I count it as a banner day.

Oh there were theories alright. First it involved the corner elastic having worn itself into nothingness, the way old soft sheets are wont to do. But there was that little matter of sweetie's corner being tight and right, so then it had to be a depth thing, right? All these big new mattresses with pillow foamy tops are thicker than regular old ones we used to jump on as kids, and the old regular sheets aren't much of a match. I was so smart, I headed down to Costco and bought me a set of those deep cornered Egyptian cotton sheets which the very next night crept around my ankles like a tourniquit.

It was then that I turned against the heater. Oh don't let it fool you: heaters are benign enough and warm the house as you are heading to bed, but as the blanket provides back up, it becomes hot. Are you with me here? SUPERhot. BoilingScaldinghot.

Counter-measures are deployed. First a foot appears at the edge of the blanket and flips up and over. Mmmmm, instant cool. The other foot follows, which clearly necessitates a body turn and resettle. The top of the blanket needs to then be folded down to expose arms which by this time are hot and sweaty. Yaaa, that's better.

Then comes a slight wiggle shift to the center followed by an abrupt flop to the other side to adjust to the now-too-chilly feet so they can be tucked between the blanket and sheet. The trick is to hover near the edge without being exposed. Inevitably there's a frantic search for the blankets once the shoulders become icy cold, followed by a series of tuck ins and throw offs as temps build and cool, build and cool, flop, tug, wiggle, turn, grab.

And so forth and so on.

So in the end it comes down to the sad state of just of being in a menopause body wrap.  It doesn't help to know every morning my sweetie will awaken refreshed to the alarm and the smell of coffee fresh and ready with the assurance --no, the expectation -- of HIS pillows and blankets being stalwart and true as he effortlessly rises and goes about his routine. And when he kisses me goodbye, he will chuckle at the thought of me chewing myself out of this impossibly knotted tangle after he's gone.