There are so many deep and introspective thoughts that traverse my gray matter on a daily basis. Questions for the universe that beg to be answered. Relevant and thought provoking items of great importance.
Things to ponder, such as: why do we make our beds every day? Who in the annals of time declared that all beds should be made upon rising? And what if said bed remains unmade? Is there an unmade bed czar who travels the country doing random bed checks and issuing citations? If so, what happens to those who are declared guilty? Those whose bed sheets are found twisted in knots and whose spreads lie crumpled on the floor? Are they banished for life? Sentenced to forty years of purgatory watching Martha Stewart bed making 101 videos?
The only bed making czar I ever feared was the one who raised me. Thou shalt not leave the house if thy bed is unmade was the commandment. I have to tell you the commandments of my youth were taken seriously. Breaking one never led to anything good. As a teen it was my only hope for a social life. But what of now? I am an adult. Have I mentioned that turned sixty recently? Certainly old enough to forge my own path in the world. Instead, and I hesitate to admit it, I cannot leave a bed unmade. I have tried, but to no avail. Once I managed to last all the way to 9:48 p.m. before fear got the best of me. I found myself scurring to straighten blankets, and fluff pillows finishing the job mere minutes before climbing in for the night.
I am beginning to believe that the whole bed making thing is a vast right wing conspiracy. Something created in corporate board rooms by men in suits with dollar signs in their eyes. Seriously, have you seen the beds in magazines recently? Layers of sheets, quilts, comforters, and throws. Pillows stacked high in random perfection. With all of that stuff on the bed where is one supposed to sleep? And how long would it take one to put that masterpiece together every morning? It's too much I tell you, too much. But I digress.
Yesterday I googled "why do we make our beds every day" and do you know what I found? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing that speaks to the origin. There was no earl of bedding, no biblical decree, no idiom. Not even an old wife's tale to justify the tradition. Just a lot of people with a lot of opinions.
And so I ask, why bother?
Today I'm turning over a new leaf. Breaking the chains of conformity. Today I shall throw caution to the wind and leave my bed unmade for the entire day.
But somebody, please, call me if you hear the bed czar is in my neighborhood. I never was crazy about Martha.