My husband tells me I'm neurotic. He says I have full blown OCD when it comes to the covers on our bed. He says I am passing that neurosis on to our daughter. This might be true. As a cover control freak, I see the signs.
In the morning, I leave my bed in precisely whatever state of chaos it has managed to become through the night. It remains that way all day. Unless we are having company, and there is a greater than small chance they may see our room, I never make the bed.
Yet, when the time of day rolls around for me to crawl in and make my way to slumber land...the covers have to be perfect. I mean, perfect. They have to be pulled up and flipped back neatly, they must be covering both sides of the bed an equal amount, and the pillows have to be lined up. It causes me distress when Andy gets in the bed before I have had the chance to go about my ritual of crazy. I do it anyway...and this drives him right up the wall. It's not new. It's not something I have taken to doing since we've had kids, or since we've been in this house. No, I've done it always. I figure, he oughtta be used to it by now. He's not.
When he is in the bed first, I start on my side and work my way to his. He sighs and moans and complains the entire time. "Build a bridge" is what I say, "and get over it." I don't do it to torture him, though I bet he thinks I get some sort of impish satisfaction out of imposing my quirks onto him (hmph, he may be right...a little). The main thing is that I simply can't sleep unless the bed is "just so."
Anyway, I was just sitting here wondering why I seem to be afflicted with this particular brand of strange. The rest of the house is in constant disarray...and if you've been reading for a while, you've even seen pictures in this post. So what is it? What is this freak of nature need for neatness at bedtime? What I've come up with is nothin'. A big fat zilch. Oh well, I'm tired and the messy covers are playing a siren song.