The Bed Linen Conspiracy

I am of the school of thought that suggests that our bed linens are out to get us. Before you judge, hear this:

There is no returning a set of sheets once you've taken them out of the zippy pouch in which they come. There may be nothing inherently wrong with the sheets; it may have been a purchaser error. You may have bought the wrong color, or you may have mistook a full set for a queen set. Whether this is the case or not is completely irrelevant. Once you've sprung the sheets from their confinement in the zippy pouch, they are yours. Congratulations.

If you've made this unfortunate mistake, my condolences and better luck next time.

With the sheets liberated it becomes our job to figure out what to do with them. The obvious answer is to make the bed, but if it seems to easy to be true, it probably is. We begin the arduous task of attempting to make the bed only to find that the fitted sheet is just the tiniest bit too small. We can adequately cover three of the four corners of the bed, but that last one is a doozy.

In frustration, we decide to put the set away for another day; there really wasn't anything wrong with the old sheets. So we begin the process of folding the sheets. Herein lies another problem.

Not only is the fitted sheet too small, but there is no good way to fold a fitted sheet. It's virtually impossible to fold the fitted sheet into the same compact square shape we can so easily fold the flat sheet into. Another source of frustration.

Based on the fact that the bed has remained essentially unchanged in shape for the past bajillion years, we can only assume that we will continue to suffer from these linen-induced afflictions. We have no other choice but to bite our tongues, deal with it, and just shove the whole mess under the bed (or in the closet, or in the chest of drawers...) until we are ready to brave the attempt again. I suppose that's what people have been doing for years now. It's one of those things that we have to deal with, and for most of us it never occurred to us to like it or hate it. So I am saying what I know a lot of you are thinking (whether you will admit it or not): I think my bed linens, specifically in the form of all fitted sheets, have a personal vendetta against me.

If you are one of those chosen few who can fold a fitted sheet and who knows how to make that same sheet fit the entire bed without riding up its corner, good for you. I don't want to hear from you. : )

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles...or Buses or Boats

It's no secret that the cost of air travel is increasing at what most of us would agree is an alarming rate. The cost of the tickets themselves are skyrocketing. It costs a small fortune to check a bag. And we all run the risk of becoming all too familiar with the TSA employ and his metal detecting wand. These developments have me thinking: is there another alternative to air travel that is perhaps newer, fresher, and less invasive?

There was a time in this country when people relied solely on the ability of the railroad to carry them to their farthest continental destinations. When they left the country, they traveled by boat (unless, of course, they were going to Canada). Could it be that the airlines themselves will force us back into this mode of transportation? And if they do, are we going to like it anymore than we like what we currently have?

There are efforts being made to revive the rail industry, and I am intrigued by the possibility of its comeback. There is something about the idea of rail travel that makes me nostalgic. I feel more connected with that previous generation. There is something old-fashioned and romantic about the idea of traveling by train.

I'm sure that train travel is just as riddled with potential problems and hiccups as air travel; safety is always a concern, no matter your mode of transportation. And it is entirely possible that the only reason the idea of traveling this way make me feel nostalgic is because I have never experienced locomotive foibles. Perhaps that's what is most intriguing. Maybe the only reason I am enchanted with the idea is because I don't know what a headache it really is. The possibility is the thing. I'm always curious about what I don't know.

The Peter Pan Problem

Disclaimer: I am not opposed to the occasional carefree superhappyfun day. But I am a firm believer that there is a time and a place for everything.

Generally I am not a fan of adults who behave like children all day every day. Fun is one thing; prolonged adolescence is something entirely different. Isn't it hard enough to experience it once? I hear my inner monologue incessantly complaining when I encounter those people who still think it's good fun to bounce the bouncy balls all over Wal-Mart or draw obscene pictures on the walls in the bathroom or play paper football while waiting for their food to be delivered to their table at a restaurant. Before I can stop myself, I hear the groan of exasperation escape as I say to whoever is closest, "Seriously? You haven't matured beyond all that?"

Then I snap out of it and realize that I am taking myself far too seriously.

I remember what it was like to be unencumbered by the baggage that inevitably comes with adulthood. Filled with nostalgia I contemplate what it was like when my biggest concern was which Barbie I should ask for at Christmas or what would happen if a classmate stole the pencil bearing my name from my desk. At the time, they seemed like monumental problems. Now they seem like idyllic scenarios that couldn't possibly exist.

There is a time and a place for everything, but I think a lot of us take the boundaries a little too far. Why is it that there always seems to be more time and more places for serious, adult things that only serve to bring us down? Wouldn't life be a lot more engaging if we created more time and places for the fun stuff?

There are some things about adulthood that have their perks. I can stay up as late as I want to, and if I want to have ice cream for dinner, there's no one to tell me not to. But at the end of the day I have to think about what time the alarm will sound the next morning, and the sugar in the ice cream makes it difficult to sleep. The bills don't pay themselves, and the house could use a good cleaning.

Maybe perpetual childhood isn't the answer; after all, when we're kids all we want to do is grow up, so we pretend to be older versions of ourselves. But I can't help thinking we could all do with a little more fun and a little less doom-and-gloom.

P.S. While I see the value of a good bouncy ball and I do think paper football is a good way to kill time, I do not condone obscene pictures on bathroom walls. : )