Boudoir Is French For Weigh-Station

So, I'm making the bed in my room tonight at 8:15 and I'm mumbling to myself about how I shouldn't have to make it since I'm never the last one out of it.  I'm honestly just feeling guilty because it's the first time in years days that I've made the damn thing, and feeling kind of moronic to be making it three hours before I'm going to get back in it, and kind of annoyed with myself because who really, actually makes their bed anyway?

And then I realize that all the grown-ups make their beds and I just suck.

So I keep making it and I start thinking about Extreme Home Makeover and how they always make the master bedroom into an oasis or a sanctuary or a refuge or some shit.  There's always a reading area and a big-screen tv and gorgeous drapes and lush rugs and I wonder, do people really spend that much time in their bedrooms that they need all that?  Because if you do, sure, you probably want to make your bed once in a while.  My bedroom is on the 4th floor of my house and the only time I'm in there, I'm unconscious.  I have three children; it's not like I have time to just go lounge around in my room all day long.   And it's not as if anyone except my three year old ever walks past my door and peeks in, and if you do find yourself in the doorway to my bedroom there's a 99% chance you're up there to kill me and I really don't care if you have to trip over some laundry and rustle with the sheets in order to chop me into tiny bits with an old, rusty axe.

And before you say, "What about the ol' winkwink, nudgenudge?" I'll just say this: In my life, I have these two columns that I like to call Things I Will Do and Things I Won't Do and I'll give you three chances to guess which column "It; with the lights on" goes into.  If he's taking the time to stop, grab the night-vision goggles and check the state of the linens, he's doing it all wrong.

Now I do like my kids' beds to be made but the girl only has these two baby blankets so making hers is nothing and the boys have these ginorous loft beds and there are a few activities as equally futile as making ginormous loft beds that I occasional like to engage in, but every time I sit on the floor to converse with the toilet I notice that someone's dribbled peepee all down the sides of it and then I have to clean it, so I try to stay away from those sorts of things if at all possible.

I wish I were the sort of person who makes her bed everyday, but that would mean I'd have to be the sort of person who walks into her bedroom every day, and that's just not me.  I also wish I were the sort of person who folds the laundry right after she dries it, or the sort of person that washes the pan right after she cooks in it, and it occurs to me that if I were that sort of person my husband might suddenly become the sort of person who drags his wife into her bedroom randomly throughout the day.

But then the damn bed would never be made.