Do I write an inordinate amount about my bed? I seem to recall several posts about it already. The thing is I LOVE IT SO MUCH. It is a haven and a place of peace and quiet joy. A have spent a king’s ransom on it, my mattress, and every stitch and bit that adorns it.
Oh, and it’s a place to pile on pillows.
I have resisted European (square) pillows so far, because I’ve already got two kings, two standards and more decorative pillows than is healthy (if I was an infant, I’d have died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome eons ago). Not to mention that when it comes time to sleep, I just push them all on the side where a partner would sleep, so that if someone ever came along who wanted to sleep there, I’m not sure who would win: him or the pillows. He might just end up in the guest room. And, yet, yesterday I finally gave in on the European pillow issue and bought a pair. They’re so pretty and give the pillow collection needed height. Oh, and there kinda sorta might be a five-foot-long bolster on order as well to prop up all the pillows from behind.
Oh… and maybe I also bought that sumptuous matelasse quilt folded up at the foot of the bed. (Besides a pillow problem, I also have a throw and quilt problem). I mean… look at that thing. The stitching! My bed is a fluffy cloud that I just float on. There are two comforters inside that gorgeous duvet covers, and a fuzzy blanket between me and it. Being under them feels like a sweet hug. But looking at it makes me nearly as happy. I am a big believer that taking pride in where you spend one third of your life is akin to taking good care of yourself.
But, yeah, after this, I have vowed that every time I have the urge to buy a pillow or a throw, I am instead going to transfer that money to a vacation fund. Someone should bar the way to all Home Goods stores for me lest I relapse.
Maybe I missed my calling as a bed stylist.