A couple weekends ago I was at a gathering where I happened to mention — I can’t remember why — that I don’t make my bed, and people were like, What? You don’t make your bed? We’re shocked! And I was like, Of course I don’t make my bed! Do YOU? And they all — every single one of them — just stared at me soberly and . . . then they nodded their heads WHAT THE HECK.
Bed making, I thought, was a thing of the past like pantyhose and jello salads. Only people who lived in one-room cabins and needed their bed to double as a sofa during the day, or hoity-toity magazine stagers, or hospital and hotel staff, bothered with making a bed. I mean, who has energy for cleaning first thing in the morning? But apparently I’m the odd one out, oops.
Does this mean I’m a slob? Maybe. But here’s the thing: I don’t care. No one sees my bed (except for when I photograph it and then flaunt it on the world wide web), and if I’m gonna mess it up again in a few short hours, why bother?
And, in my defense, I’ve heard that creative people are less likely to make their bed (which is a nice thought, but I don’t buy it since I think everyone’s creative) and that people who make their beds are more likely to be successful, but that depends on what success means to you, and I think success is defined as figuring out the shortest amount of time between waking and that first cup of coffee, so there you go.
(If my husband’s the last one out of bed, he often tugs the covers straight, but he also loves to climb into a rumpled bed. In fact, he actively dislikes climbing into a made bed — it’s too much work, he says. And while I may not make my bed in the morning, I am pretty religious about straightening the sheets at the foot of the bed prior to climbing in at night: I like my top sheet tucked firmly under the mattress and my husband likes his part untucked, so every night there’s a bit of huffing and puffing as we work things out.)
Do you make your bed?