The Old Coot can't make a bed. Article # 1060

 The Old Coot can’t make it.

By Merlin Lessler

My wife was down with a cold and spent the night on the couch the other day (actually it was in 2011 but I was too lazy to come up with a new article this week). It caused me a problem of major proportions the next morning. What to do with the unmade bed? Men are born with a genetic defect; we can’t make beds. We can’t fold either. When we make a bed it looks like a pile of dirty laundry. When we fold a T-shirt, it looks like a wadded up newspaper. We are bed making and folding challenged, an incurable affliction. 

 It starts showing itself, this defect, when we are young boys and our mothers try to teach us to how to make a bed. The harder we try, the worse it looks. When we get older, we fight back, “Why do I have to make the bed; I’ll just mess it up again tonight?” It’s a reasoned argument, but it never wins the day. No matter what we say, we still end up being forced to smooth out the sheet, pull up the blanket, align the cover and drape it over the pillow. My bed looked like someone was still in it when I was done. It didn’t matter! I was required to make it every morning. “Because we are civilized people,” my mother explained. “What if someone saw your room and the bed was unmade?” I made it and went off to school. Then she came in and straightened out the mess.

 I learned a few tricks along the way. I solved the problem when I was a teenager by hiding the sheet and blanket under the bed. I then slipped the bedspread over the top and smoothed it out. Without the layers underneath to mess me up it looked perfect.  

 So, there I was the other morning (in 2011), an old coot faced with a horrendous dilemma. One I usually avoided by getting up early on my way. day. Now I was stuck! My mother’s words, “We are a civilized people,” haunted me. I found the sheet at the bottom of the bed; I’d kicked it around pretty good during the night. A leg cramp must have hit me in my sleep. I pulled it tight, and then tried to smooth out the blanket. It didn’t look too lumpy, so I moved ahead with the top cover. It came out lopsided. When it was even on one side of the bed it hung at an angle on the other side. I put the uneven side where my wife wouldn’t see it, covered the functional pillows (the ones we use) and put the frilly (useless) ones on top. It still looked like a boa constrictor was hiding under the spread. I took a step back and squinted; when I squeezed my eyes just right, an image of a perfectly made bed appeared. Santa was good to me! My wife never noticed. Hope he was a good to you this year.

 Comments, complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com