Bed Time Stories

Sometimes on a lazy Sunday I think I’ll be super relaxed and leave my bed unmade. Yeah, that’s cool. The pillows thrown everywhere, the sheets crumpled in piles. I’ll go down stairs, walk the dogs, get the cereal out, feed the birds, but in the back of my mind is that flipping unmade bed. 

I can do this, I think. I can leave the bed like that. Think about something else. But I can’t. I just can’t get away from the image of the unmade bed. And before the cereal goes snap-crackle-pop I am dashing back upstairs to make that bed. So uncool. So unrelaxed.
Any fellow Virgo’s out there? Why are we like this? Why do we have to sort the paper clips into neat piles and sharpen the pencils till they share an exact point?

“Can I help?” says Domino when she see’s me making the bed. “Of course” I say. After 4 boys who roll their eyes so far to the back of their heads when I ask them to make their beds its delightful that she wants to help.

“Go to the other side and pull the sheet tight and tuck” 
“Fold the bed cover down and over, so both of the pretty patterns show”
“This is what a hospital corner should look like”
“Plump the pillows to get last nights dreams out of them”
“Pull the pillow corners in opposite directions to get them straight”

“What do you think?” I ask Domino when the bed has been Virgo-ed by us both.
“I think it looks better like this” she says climbing up and runs, like a demon, back and forth, spilling pillows to the ground, leaping out of my grip as I lunge to grab her. Head back, shrieking with laughter, she continues.

I finally catch her and carry her out of the room. 
“Aren’t you off to ballet?” I say, seeing her in a pink tutu. 
“No I’m dressed for tennis”

I begin to make the bed again.
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