Changing my sheets is not one of them.
Apparently most people change theirs weekly.
Not me. Seems wasteful, and I haven’t the time.
Right now you’re either grossed out or nodding your head in agreement.
Either way, you’ll understand this story.
Last Monday I left for vacation with my boys. I tidied the house before I left and put on fresh, luxurious sheets. It was my first long drive with the kids alone–12 hours there, 12 back–and I knew I’d be exhausted when I came home, so I did everything I could to make the house as clean as possible for my arrival.
When we returned, I was pleased with how neat I’d left my home.
But then I noticed a new towel hanging in the bathroom. And the pillows on my bed looked not quite right, placed unevenly across the colorful bedspread.
I immediately jumped to a crazy conclusion: Zach (soon to be ex husband) had slept here! Even though he has his own place and has for almost a year! But then I brushed it off because why on earth would he do that?
But then I just couldn’t get a nagging feeling out of my head, so I texted him to inquire.
Yep. He sure did. He had a new bed on order and so decided to sleep in my bed, ON MY CLEAN SHEETS, while I was gone. Without asking.
And did he wash the sheets? Of course not.
I said I was sad that he’d violated my personal space (he has entrance rights as he was painting Big Brother’s room, etc., while we were gone–a more than fair trade considering that I do 97% of the parenting). And that he should’ve asked.
He told me I was acting ungrateful for all that he’d done. And he apologized for not asking first, but he did not apologize for sleeping in my bed instead of the couch or his own house.
As if it’s normal to sleep at your almost ex-wife’s house without asking. And without washing the sheets.
I was angry. And irritated.
Now I’m just tired. Here I sit waiting for the sheets to dry so I can go to bed, after a long day of packing up the boys, driving across the country, begging/pleading/(eventually) yelling for quiet on the way home, unpacking the car, cobbling together a super sorry excuse for dinner, and putting them to bed.
Dinner was bowls served in the backyard that contained: graham crackers, peanuts, turkey, and green beans, still frozen. They loved it. It was novel.
The idea of sliding my body between sheets sullied by a man I loved but who betrayed me, lied to me, has already joined an online dating site, and still hasn’t worked a recovery program infuriates me. This is my space.
And my sheets will be fresh, soon.
I will get over this: after all, how important is this one little blip after all of the others?