Why Satin Sheets Should Burn With the Fire of a Thousand Suns

About two weeks ago, my husband and I went shopping together. This tends to be a very bad thing cuz I'm always like, "Ooh looky, something shiny" and he's like, "Buy it" and I'm like, "It's not in the budget" and I put it back and then he puts it in the cart anyway and we end up getting it. It's all part of his master plan to take over the world get video games because when we end up in that department he pulls the, "Well, you got your shiny thing" card and I'm like, "Hoover dam it. Fine." and we end up spending twice as much as I would have if I had just shopped ALONE.

Did you catch all that?

Anyhoo, whilst shopping, we somehow ended up in the linens aisle. Well, really I was trying to sneakily wend my way to the shoe department. Shoes are kinda like my version of crack.

All of a sudden my husband was like, "STOP THE PRESSES!"

I thought I was busted. But, no. It was worse. Much worse.

He wanted to look at sheets.

We have this problem, you see. Sometime during the night an evil alligator (named CHANCE LEE WALKER) creeps into our bed and does the macarena, causing the fitted sheet to slip off the mattress and crumple up right underneath my butt. When I get up to feed the baby I'm like, "ARRGGHHH" and I wake up the evil alligator hubby and make him get out of bed and stand there holding the screaming hungry baby while I fix it.

No, I have never been accused of having OCD. I don't know what you're talking about.

The hubby apparently doesn't like standing in his underwear holding a screaming infant for 15 minutes at 3 a.m., so he decided getting new sheets would solve the problem.

And they had to be satin.

I was a little leery having never been a satin sheet owner before, but he really, really, REALLY wanted them, so we ended up buying a set.

In case you're wondering, I never made it to the shoe department.

We get them home and hubby immediately strips the bed and I'm like, "Maybe we should wash these first. They smell like the frog I dissected in eighth grade." Hubby sighs heavily, but puts the sheets in the washer.

One hour later: The sheets are washed and dried. Hubby has fallen asleep watching TV. I end up making the bed.

The first thing I realize is that it's no easy task making a bed with satin sheets. The slippery little buggers have a mind of their own. Every time I try to put the quilt on, the fitted sheet somehow migrates to the top/side/bottom/other side of the bed. I finally figure out that if I fold the blanket into fourths, gingerly place it on the bed in the correct position, and then unfold it like it's covered with explosive foam, the sheet stays mostly in place.

After all that, I am sweaty and huffing and puffing and all I can think is, "EFF YOU, CREATOR OF SATIN SHEETS ... "

Which brings me to the first reason satin sheets are not sexy:

Making your bed should not be an aerobics workout. 

(because then you end up looking like Richard Simmons ... or maybe that obese lady in the very back)

Fast forward to 11 p.m. The bed is made, the baby is asleep, I am ugly-fied (ugly-fied [verb?]: the process of removing all makeup from one's face), and I am TIRED.

I pull back the covers and climb into bed. And promptly shriek and hop back out.

Them things are cold! It was kinda like slipping between two ginormous sardines. Without the slime and creepy eyeballs. For clarification purposes, I was fully jammified [jammified (adjective?]: the state of wearing jammies).

I get out of bed and put on two pairs of socks, a long sleeve shirt and a sweater.

And that leads me to reason number 2:

Eskimos are not sexy.

Five minutes later - I feel like I'm roasting in a pizza oven. I jump out of bed, strip off all those layers and crawl back in.

Which is reason number 3:

Heat stroke. 'Nuf said.

After a few minutes the temp regulates and I finally drift off to dreamland. I am awakened sometime later by a weird sandpaper-y feeling. I realize my not-so-fabulous feet are catching on the satin, so I groggily get out of bed and search for the socks I had previously stripped off. I find one. Better than nothing. I crawl back into bed and fall asleep again.

Reason 4:

You have to use a cheese grater ... on your feet.

By 3 a.m., the husband has managed to toss and turn so much the entire quilt has slipped off the end of the bed. He, of course, is oblivious. I'm freezing. I get up to throw it back on and hear, "WAHHHHHHHHH".

(insert long string of expletives here)

I get the baby a bottle, feed him, put him back in bed, and then get back under the covers. By this point, the fitted sheet has once again slipped off the upper corners of the mattress and is halfway down the bed.

Problem NOT SOLVED.

I am incredibly irritated by this, but so exhausted I decide to just rip the satin sheets off the bed and get under the regular blankets on top of the bare mattress.

I sleep peacefully for about 2 hours. Hooray.

The next morning, I wake up to find a big, huge, gigantic stain on my (satin) pillowcase. I must have been sobbing hysterically in my sleep about the incredible difficulty of my life, right?

Wrong.

I was drooling.

And that, my friends, brings me to reason number 6 satin sheets are not sexy:

You realize you have the saliva glands of a camel.

I theorize men think satin sheets are sexy because of racy movies. Have you noticed they ALWAYS have satin sheets, usually red?

You weren't looking at the sheets? Oh.

Unfortunately, people in racy movies don't sweat or get hot or cold or have to use a foot cheese grater and they sure as heck don't drool swimming pool-sized puddles onto their pillows. At least not in the movie, anyway.

The moral of the story? There's three.

1. Get separate beds.

2. Buy different sheets.

3. Strangle the evil alligator.

Problem solved.