I have bought so many different
brands and types of bed sheets over the years, if I tied all of them together,
I could use them to rappel down Mount Everest.
When I was a newlywed, I bought a
set of black satin sheets, thinking they would add a romantic touch to the
bedroom. They turned out to be so
slippery, I didn't dare wear a silky nightgown when I jumped into bed, for fear
I'd end up on the bathroom floor.
I later got into a phase where I
enjoyed the feel of crisp, cotton sheets and pillowcases. My husband, however, didn't share my
fondness for them.
"They're like sleeping on
cardboard!" he complained one morning. "They feel like those sheets
hospitals use. And look at my face!"
He had a series of lines across one
cheek that made him look as if someone had been playing tic-tac-toe on it as he
slept.
"These lines are from all of
the wrinkles in my stiff pillowcase pressing into my skin all night!" he
said.
Before I could comment, he added,
"And the sheets are noisy!
Whenever I roll over, they sound like someone's crumpling
newspaper!"
So I switched to a softer cotton,
which he liked, but I didn't. Every
time I washed them in hot water, they seemed to shrink a size.
It got to the point where the
elasticized bottom sheet wouldn't even stay on the mattress any more. Whenever one of us rolled over, the corners
of the sheet would spring up at us, as if it were an attack sheet. I expected to wake up one morning completely
wrapped up in it…like a giant taco.
The sheets my husband and I finally
both mutually liked were made of flannel.
They were soft. They were
cozy. They were warm in the winter and
surprisingly cool in the summer.
The only problem was they were lint
magnets. They ended up gathering more
"pills" than a pharmacy.
After a while, lying on them was like lying on a bed of goosebumps.
"Maybe you should use that
clothes-shaver gadget to get rid of all these lint balls," my husband said
one morning as he was lying in bed, staring at the collection of white bumps
that resembled constellations all over the blue sheet.
"I'd have to spend a week
shaving it!" I said. "Those little shavers are meant for sweaters and
socks, not for something the size of a car."
Then came the answer to all of our
problems…micro-fleece sheets. They were
softer than flannel, lightweight, and best of all, they didn't gather
lint. Washing them also was heavenly
because they came out of the washer practically dry.
I was so excited about the
mirco-fleece sheets, I bought them in plaids, florals, stripes and solid
colors.
I even bought myself some
micro-fleece pajamas. I soon
discovered, however, that the two micro-fleeces stuck together like
Velcro. Whenever I wanted to roll over,
I had to lift my body off the bed and fling myself onto my side. By morning, my pajama tops usually were
bunched up like a scarf, somewhere around my chin.
Still, I loved the micro-fleece
sheets and thought they were the ultimate in comfort.
That is, until I discovered something
even softer and more comfy…brushed micro-fleece (also called microplush by some companies)
Brushed micro-fleece was thicker
than regular micro-fleece and felt like angora. It was like sleeping on a cloud. Even my husband raved.
But his raving was
short-lived. "These sheets are way
too comfortable!" he complained one frigid Monday morning. "I can't
force myself to get out of bed any more.
They're making me late for everything!"
I didn't want to admit it, but I
was having the same problem. Something
about the brushed micro-fleece made my body scream, "No! Don't make me leave this cozy warmth and go
out into the cold, cruel world! Let me
just stay here curled up in bed all day!"
I actually slept until 4:00 one
afternoon.
I hate to say it, but unless I want
to end up hibernating like a big old bear all winter, I may have to go dig out
the cardboard sheets again.
# # #
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